The Breton
by Eledhwen
Summary: A sequel to 'Les Chroniques Parisiennes'. NOW COMPLETE! Chapter 19 added: cops, lawyers, and decisions. (29/10, minor modification to chapter 5).
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Luc is all mine. I like him. I'm keeping him. Everyone else is Joss's, though I would like to keep them because I like them too.  
  
Author's Note: this is essentially a sequel to 'Les Chroniques Parisiennes' (which everyone is cordially invited to read and give me feedback on!) If you haven't read that and want to, go away NOW! Read no further, for spoilers for that lie ahead. This fic will span the centuries and will, I promise, lead to LA. Where it is very possible (Imzadi?) that Luc will run into a certain lawyer. Enjoy.  
  
  
  
  
  
So … brief plot summary for 'Les Chroniques Parisiennes':  
  
It is 1838. Luc Tarpeau, a young Breton from Morbihan, comes to Paris in search of a job and lands an interview with a certain young Irishman – only it's not a man, it's Angelus. Taken by Luc's lack of fear, he is promptly hired by the vampire and spends several months working for him before everything falls apart. Caught in the act of betrayal, Luc dies. Or does he?  
  
  
  
The Breton – prologue: Paris, 1838  
  
"You're sure you don't want to come?" Angelus leaned out of the carriage. "My dear Luc, you'll regret it. We can show you the best of all London."  
  
"Maybe in a while." Luc stood on the steps of the house. "I'll write, I promise. I swear."  
  
"You'd better do. You're of the Order of Aurelius, Luc, and don't forget it."  
  
Luc bowed towards Darla. "I won't."  
  
"Good hunting," Angelus said, as Darla tapped the side of the carriage and the coachman roused the horses into a steady walk.  
  
Luc raised a hand in farewell, and watched as the carriage left the gates and disappeared into the night.  
  
He turned, and closed the door behind him. The house was empty and quiet. Most of the furniture had already been sold, the kitchen gutted, the piano carted off. Luc wandered through the bare library, running an idle finger along the dusty shelves, and then started up the carpeted stairs.  
  
At the door to Angelus' room, he paused, and them pushed it open and went in. Here, the four-poster bed still stood, its hangings and covers intact, and for a moment Luc stood and inhaled the scent of his sire. A smile crossed his face as he remembered waking up for the first time in the large bed, his senses heightened, his hunger raw and dominant, Angelus stretched out next to him with that lopsided smile on his beautiful features.  
  
Luc crossed the room, and closed the heavy curtains, and with a small sigh laid himself down on the bed for one last day, before leaving the house forever. 


	2. Brittany to Biarritz

Author's note: the places I have mentioned in Nantes exist. My mini-tribute to the city that was home for a year, and which I sometimes miss. Biarritz, nowadays a fashionable resort for gaming and surfers, was just becoming popular in the mid-1800s, following its earlier life as a whaling town.  
  
  
  
The Breton – chapter 1: Brittany to Biarritz  
  
Hands in his pockets, Luc strolled along the quay. A normal, well-to-do young man out for an evening walk along the banks of the Loire. Yet those who happened to look closer caught a glimpse of something predatory in his gaze; calculated, thoughtful intelligence.  
  
He was looking for a boat to take him south, away from the cold winds of Brittany and the stony cities. He had money in his pocket and promises of more, whenever he needed it, from Angelus in London. But Luc wanted some freedom, some time, now he knew he had it, to explore the world. To revel in his new senses, new power, alone and free of the restraints and demands which a constantly present sire would no doubt impose on him.  
  
Eyeing a barge, and rejecting it, Luc turned away from the Loire and followed the bank of the Erdre north, back into Nantes itself. He had arrived the previous evening, coming south from Paris and west from Angers, and had chosen to rest the day out in the city. He had plans for a trip to the Opera on the Place Graslin, followed by a bite to eat in the side- streets by the Chateau. But first, he wanted to find a boat that would be suitable for his journey onwards.  
  
He paused, and focused on a large sailing boat moored against the bank. It looked clean and well-kept, and big enough to have a hold free of sunlight. There was a sailor working on deck, and Luc hailed him.  
  
"I'm looking for a passage south, to Biarritz or further," he said, a few minutes later. The captain, a middle-aged man with a beard, eyed Luc's clothes.  
  
"One hundred francs," he said, eventually. "Food extra."  
  
"Twenty now," Luc said, reckoning up his funds, "and the rest on arrival."  
  
"Forty now."  
  
Luc met the captain's eyes, and thickened his accent. "Come now, monsieur. Where can I go, once on board? Twenty-five when I arrive here, the rest on safe arrival."  
  
"Done." They shook hands. "We leave at midnight, monsieur."  
  
Luc picked up his bag at the hotel, reluctantly paying for the night he had spent there, and forgoing the Opera, headed to the Quartier Juif. At this time it was bustling, the streets busy as people headed to restaurants or bars. Luc wandered along, eyeing the groups for someone alone, or a young couple.  
  
He had found that the hunt, the search for and then the careful trailing of a victim, made every kill a new experience. In the first days after his turning, he had been taken by Angelus through the streets of Paris, learning how to hunt and kill, how to make the most of his new abilities. He had learnt quickly, and he had learnt well. Now, alone in the shadowy streets of Nantes, Luc felt he was in his element as he focused on a young man strolling along, following him down a smaller side-street and quickly catching him up. Nobody was there to see as he let his true, vampiric face show itself, seized his victim and swiftly drank.  
  
He let the body fall, and bent to rifle through the young man's pockets for any money he had on him before turning his back on it and strolling calmly away.  
  
On board the boat, he found he had been given a small but scrupulously clean cabin with one small porthole, which luckily closed with a round shutter. Luc unpacked his few clothes and laid them on the shelf provided, and went back on deck to watch as the sailors cast off the mooring ropes and the ship set off slowly downriver towards the Loire and the sea.  
  
The sailors proved to be a friendly group of men, amenable to chatting to their passenger, and, later, to playing cards. As the ship slipped silently towards the coast, and the sun began to show itself in the sky, Luc excused himself and went below to shelter in his cabin.  
  
The voyage was smooth and incident-free, despite Luc having to fend off remarks about him sequestering himself in his cabin during the day. He laughed, met the sailors' eyes with a hint of the demon, and made up a story about being afraid of seeing waves, which seemed to satisfy them enough. Three days into the journey the hunger had hit, but the ship's population of rats kept him from starvation.  
  
They docked in Biarritz a week after leaving Nantes, the air warmer already. Luc delayed his packing whilst the sun set, and waited until the captain had paid off his sailors and let them go ashore before going to join him on the bridge.  
  
"I have to thank you for a good voyage," he said.  
  
"A pleasure." The captain looked expectant.  
  
"Ah, yes, the seventy-five francs I owe you," Luc said, enjoying himself. "I thought I'd not bother paying."  
  
"Not … what do you mean?" the captain said, floundering. "Monsieur Tarpeau, I gave you passage in good faith!"  
  
"And I'm very … grateful," Luc returned, smiling, and kept the smile as his teeth grew. Through the demon's eyes, the captain's fear was clearly evident. He backed away into the wheel of the boat, muttering Hail Marys under his breath. "I'll recommend you to anyone," he added, pausing for a second above the captain's jugular, feeling the scent of terror, and then biting down and drinking.  
  
The captain's blood tasted of the sea, salty and strong, and Luc felt the life-giving warmth sinking into his still veins like strong alcohol. Finally, he let the body drop, and wiped away the drops of blood from around his mouth with a sigh, before picking up his bag and, with a spring in his step, crossing the gangplank onto Basque soil.  
  
It was early summer, and the season in Biarritz was just beginning. Luc found it easy to get a room in a hotel, and for a while he stood at the window and gazed out at the flickering lights of the young resort.  
  
He went out at midnight, strolling along the winding streets and listening with interest to the mingled accents of upper-class French and the melodious sound of Basque. There was more of the latter, but Luc decided he quite liked the complete change from the stifling atmosphere of Paris and the endless round of parties and concerts, theatre visits and salons. Languidly he trailed a pretty young Basque girl and drained her slowly before heading back to his hotel and settling in for the day. Luc Tarpeau was on holiday, and he intended to enjoy himself. 


	3. Vienna, 1852

The Breton - chapter 2: Vienna, 1852  
  
Luc let his human features come back over his face as he took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped his lips. The plump Austrian woman he had carefully selected and fastidiously drunk lay beside him, her eyes closed peacefully. Luc put the handkerchief away and strolled out of the corner. About him, all was light and music. It was a beautiful summer's evening in the Prater, and the Viennese were doing their best to show themselves off.  
  
Luc put his hands in his pocket and strolled nonchalantly along the paths, smiling at the handsome women passing him. He reflected that Austria seemed to have no lack of handsome women, but that pretty ones were few and far between, and a grin flickered on his lips as he remembered beautiful French girls, and Spanish ones, and Italian ones. No lack of girls, whether he had wooed, or seduced, or taken them. At fourteen of his new years, Luc Tarpeau had settled into unlife with a zest that would have surprised him when he had been alive. He had seen the Mediterranean and was slowly working his way through Europe. After Vienna; Prague, and Budapest – he intended to see the Austro-Hungarian Empire properly, to taste all it had to offer. Then, he thought idly, as he bowed at a group of sisters dressed up to the nines, he would head north to Poland and then back to France via Germany.  
  
And perhaps he would fit London in the schedule too, Luc mused, climbing into a cab and telling the driver to take him back to the cathedral. Go and visit Angelus and Darla, and see the wonder that was the capital of England. He had been invited often enough; his sire pressing him in every letter to return to the family, often with a firmness that bordered on threatening. Luc knew that for the moment he was far enough away to be safe, but he also knew that the visit would have to be made at some point.  
  
The cab drew to a halt in front of the imposing edifice of St Stephen's Cathedral, and Luc paid and watched as it rattled away again to pick up another fare. With a slight expression of distaste, he turned away from the cathedral and headed down towards the rooms he had let. In a dark street, they were cheap and comfortable enough to pass the day in, with a landlady who asked no questions as long as Luc paid on time. And money he had to spare, with the gifts enclosed in the letters from London, and what he took off his victims.  
  
As he climbed the stairs, Luc reflected that the old him, the weak country boy who died fourteen years previously, would have been horrified to see where he was now. Horrified, and probably secretly impressed despite himself. Even as a human, he had always wanted to see the world, to experience new things, to be someone. Now, he had that.  
  
He slept the day away peacefully and undisturbed, and at nightfall dressed carefully before going out. Tonight, he thought, he would hunt in the city centre. He had had enough for a while of the socialites of the Prater and wanted some real food, something feisty and strong; and so he headed out away from the cathedral and the palaces and into the smaller, darker streets.  
  
Here there were many taverns, full by now of people drinking and laughing and playing cards. Luc slipped into one of the first he came to and ordered wine at the bar from a buxom barmaid with pockmarked skin, his German by now good enough to get by for simple requests. He sat and drank the wine. It was red; coarse and strong and vastly inferior to the wines of France, but it went down easily as Luc watched the patrons and tried to choose a victim for the night.  
  
His attention kept getting drawn back to one corner, where a group of men in their twenties were playing cards noisily. They were playing for stakes in paper, and one man in particular kept winning. The more Luc watched them, the more he became aware of some power emanating from this man; and when finally they finished their game and got up to leave, passing him close by, he realised why. All around him he could hear the pounding of heartbeats, the rasping of breath, but not from these. They were like himself, and the power was there because the victor was old. Luc, using his instincts, gave him two or three centuries, and intrigued he followed the group of vampires out and down the street.  
  
They had been going perhaps five minutes before their leader stopped them, turning around and looking straight at Luc who hovered a few hundred yards behind them, cloaked in darkness.  
  
"All right, fledgling," he said in hoarse German. "Come on out."  
  
Luc could not understand more than the last command, but he understood the tone, and came forward, carefully keeping his bearing neutral and his human face to the fore.  
  
The master vampire examined him, taking in the rich clothes and Luc's general air of well-being.  
  
"Are you Austrian?" he said, in German still. Luc understood this much and shook his head.  
  
"No, I'm French," he replied. The old vampire raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Indeed?" he replied, in French, accented but understandable, and Luc breathed a mental sigh of relief. "So what brings you to Vienne, young one?"  
  
"My name is Luc," Luc said, holding himself tall. "I'm visiting Europe."  
  
The master vampire put his head back and roared with laughter, translating Luc's comment for the others, who joined in the guffaws.  
  
"Visiting Europe. Well, Luc, you should take more care before trespassing on another's territory. Didn't your sire teach you that? Surely you're too young to be 'visiting' alone?" He took an intimidating step forwards. "Who is your sire?"  
  
"I am of the Order of Aurelius," Luc returned, proudly. He had already seen, more than once, the effect the name had on other vampires. "My sire is Angelus."  
  
There was silence in the alleyway. The group of vampires exchanged glances; evidently 'Angelus' needed no translation. Something in the master vampire's countenance twitched.  
  
Luc pressed home his advantage. "May I have the honour of knowing your name, so that I might know whose territory I am trespassing on?"  
  
The older vampire's eyes flashed yellow for a second. "I'm Georg. They call me Sabretooth."  
  
Luc digested the information and stored it away, privately thinking to himself that next to 'Scourge of Europe', or 'Goddess of Death', a term he had heard applied to Darla, 'Sabretooth' rang rather hollow. He smiled politely.  
  
"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, monsieur."  
  
"Are you indeed? Quite the Mr Confident, so far from his home and his sire." Georg stepped intimidatingly close to Luc. "I'm not afraid of some jumped-up Irish idiot, nor that wrinkled old prune they call Aurelius. What help can they be now?"  
  
"My sire taught me well, monsieur," Luc said smoothly, meeting the older vampire's eyes evenly. Behind his back, he found the end of the stake he had attached to his waistband and took hold of it. "I'm sure he'll be interested in your views. I'll be certain to pass the message on."  
  
His words had the effect he had hoped. The master vampire growled, and transformed, baring his fangs and coming even closer to Luc. Luc, feeling the change come across his own features, swept his stake around his body and drove it home.  
  
Georg froze, looked down at the blunt end protruding from his heart, and exploded into a million pieces.  
  
Luc brushed off the remains with distaste. "Perhaps now you'll let me enjoy my holiday?" he asked the group of minions, who seemed to be undecided about running or attacking. They did not seem to understand him, and Luc shrugged before brushing his coat down one more time, turning, and strolling off to find his evening meal. 


	4. To the Bosom of the Family - 1883

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Author's notes: hmmm, Angelus being around always helps make these things darker. Rating adjusted accordingly.  
  
  
  
The Breton – chapter 3: The Bosom of the Family, 1883  
  
The fog was rolling in waves over the river, and Luc leaned out of the cab to better see the city. All around him there was activity, despite the hour; people calling, people walking, people fighting … He took a deep, unnecessary breath and smiled. London, at last.  
  
The cab drew to a halt outside a tall, elegant town house with steps up to the door. There was no courtyard, and the stone was a blackened grey, but it was nevertheless a nice building and Luc nodded. This seemed right. He climbed out of the cab, had his trunk hoisted off the roof, and paid the cab driver before ascending the steps and knocking on the door.  
  
He waited only a few seconds before it was opened, by a pale young woman with bags under her eyes and wisps of blonde hair escaping from under her cap.  
  
"Luc Tarpeau," said Luc, listening to her heartbeat. "I believe I am expected?"  
  
"Yes, sir." The maid bobbed a courtesy. "Please, sir, I invite you in."  
  
Luc smiled wryly at the ploy, and as he passed the girl glanced to see if she had the same scar on her neck that he had once had on his. She put a hand up to the spot, nervously, as he looked.  
  
"Thank you …?" he said, in his new, limited English.  
  
"Moira, sir," the girl replied. "Please, sir, I am to take you to your room and then the master asks you to join the family in the drawing room."  
  
Luc nodded, and picking up his trunk followed the girl up two flights of stairs and into a comfortable room with the trademark deep velvet curtains and a red bedspread. The room smelt intoxicatingly of Angelus, and as the maid bobbed her way out, he put the trunk down and inhaled, closing his eyes, remembering.  
  
He unpacked, and washed his face in the basin provided, changing into a nice suit and brushing his hair by feel, putting a ribbon in it that matched the suit before leaving the room and following his senses downstairs.  
  
Outside the drawing room door he paused. There were voices from inside: the high, excited giggle of a girl, and a light, mocking Englishman. Luc squared his shoulders, adjusted his cravat, and pushed open the door.  
  
The drawing room was lit by candles and was decorated in blue; Luc thought he recognised Darla's touch. The furnishings were opulent and comfortable. He took all this in in a glance, even as he turned to the figure reclining in an armchair by the fire, who looked up from his book, and laid it down with a smile.  
  
"Luc."  
  
"Sire," Luc said.  
  
Angelus stood up with the same easy grace Luc remembered, and came to survey him. "You look wonderful," he said in French. "Was the journey dreadful?"  
  
"I enjoyed it," Luc returned. "I like sailors. And there was a perfectly delicious tavern wench in Dover."  
  
"Sailors are salty," remarked Darla, from the chaise-longue. "Welcome to London."  
  
Luc crossed to her and bent to kiss her hand, and Darla smiled warmly at him. "See, William, this is how you treat your elders."  
  
"It's Spike," the arrogant English voice Luc had heard from outside the door said, and Luc turned to see the third occupant of the room scowl at Darla. He was dressed in clean but scruffy clothes, something nondescript hanging off his lean form under a shock of sandy hair.  
  
"Luc," said Angelus wearily, "this is Spike. Unfortunately my grandchilde. Formerly and more properly known as William the Bloody. Spike," he said, "Luc, who is worth a hundred of you."  
  
Luc and Spike eyed each other warily.  
  
"I am pleased to meet you," Luc said in careful English.  
  
"Yeah, whatever." Spike shrugged. "Dru, you want to go and get somethin' to eat?"  
  
The high, girlish laugh came again, and Luc looked from Spike to its source, and then glanced at Angelus for an explanation of the dark-haired beauty at Spike's feet, occupied in carefully mutilating a porcelain doll. Angelus smiled, and crossed the room to help the girl up with clear adoration in his eyes.  
  
"Drusilla, my love, this is Luc."  
  
"My brother?" the girl said, her voice light. "The brother you promised me, Daddy?"  
  
"The very same," Angelus reassured her, stroking her cheek with a finger.  
  
Luc forced a smile on to his face, translating 'brother' into French and realising that this brunette beauty was also his sire's childe; and presumably Spike's sire in turn.  
  
"Enchanté," he said, sweeping Drusilla a bow. She laughed again.  
  
"I like this one, Daddy," she whispered. "I can see years in him. So innocent, and so evil."  
  
"Drusilla has the Sight," Angelus said.  
  
"But no foresight, or she wouldn't have turned that pathetic creature," Darla said cuttingly. "She's completely mad, Luc," she added.  
  
Drusilla whimpered and turned back to her dolls. Angelus shrugged.  
  
"An hour before sunrise. Care for a stroll?"  
  
"I would love a walk," Luc said, and together they left the room and after pausing to call for coats, they were out on the streets.  
  
"So what do you think of London?" Angelus asked, slipping back into French.  
  
"What I've seen, I've liked," Luc replied, glancing round at the people nearby. At this time they were mostly drunk. One or two beggars looked hopefully at the two vampires as they walked past, but neither Luc nor Angelus spared them any attention. "I expect I shall come to like it more."  
  
"It does well enough," Angelus said. "I'm glad to be back after our unscheduled trip around Britain."  
  
"Why was that?" Luc asked, remembering the occasional letters sent from York, from Edinburgh, from Liverpool.  
  
"Spike. The boy got a little carried away and left damn great trails all over the place."  
  
"I can't say I like him," Luc admitted.  
  
Angelus glanced sideways and smiled. "I didn't think you would, my Luc. You're worth ten of him."  
  
Luc returned the smile, feeling contentment sweep over him. He was home.  
  
They walked a little further, exchanging tales, and Angelus took Luc down a side-street and up a flight of stairs. "Call this a welcome home present, Luc. Don't drain her, just a few sips." He knocked sharply on a plain wooden door which opened after a moment to reveal a pretty, but thin and pale girl who visibly recoiled from the doorway on seeing her visitors.  
  
Angelus smiled one of his most charming smiles and moved through the door, bending to give her a deep kiss. "Invite my friend in," he said softly.  
  
She nodded. "Come in."  
  
Luc came through the door and closed it behind him.  
  
"Catherine, my sweet," Angelus said, taking the girl by the arm and steering her along the short, dark passageway into an equally dark bedroom, "you're looking thin. Business bad?"  
  
"It's fine," the girl said hoarsely. She twisted her arm out of his grip and unbuttoned the collar of her blouse, weariness on her face. "In fact I've got a client coming in half an hour. So you and your friend want to get on with it?"  
  
"The client can wait, if he comes before we're finished," Angelus said calmly. "Luc. Neck or elsewhere? Your choice, my dear boy."  
  
Luc examined the girl professionally. "I'll take the neck, sire."  
  
"A good choice. Remember, no killing."  
  
The girl, Catherine, lay back on the filthy bed with a resigned sigh, and Luc let the change come over him, bent down and drank. Beside him he could feel Angelus following his example. The girl lay quiet and still as they drank. Luc broke off quickly, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his lips as he let his features switch back to human. His sire was bent over the girl's thigh, but as Luc watched he sat up, smiling.  
  
"Better leave you some strength for that client, hadn't we?" Angelus felt in a pocket and pulled out a note, folding it and tucking it into the girl's corset, before leaning over and kissing her again, hard, and evidently drawing blood. She pushed him off. "I'll see you next week, sometime," he said.  
  
"One of these days," Catherine said, low and venomous, "I'm going to work out how to stop you from getting in here."  
  
"And are you indeed?" Angelus said. "Well, I'll look forward to that day. We'll see ourselves out."  
  
The dawn was approaching as they made their way back to the houses, their pace languorous.  
  
"Where did you find her?" Luc asked.  
  
"Oh, she propositioned me," Angelus said, grinning. "And that was all very sweet and nice, until she realised what I really wanted. Not that I wasn't averse to the former, mind. I'm never averse to that. But I like her; she's feisty. One day I might kill her. Till then I'll have my fun."  
  
They reached the house, and safely inside hung up their coats.  
  
"It's good to have you here," Angelus said. "Reminds me of those glorious days in Paris." He took Luc by the shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. "You've done well, my boy. I'm proud of you." He let go and turned for the stairs, but paused before heading upwards. In the same conversational tone he added, "and of course you'll have realised: Dru and Darla are mine. Keep away from them."  
  
Luc, his euphoria dissipating slightly, bowed his head. "Yes, sire. Sleep well." 


	5. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Author's notes: a short Christmas interlude in London. Because I felt like it.  
  
  
  
The Breton: chapter 4 – God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen  
  
"Look at all the pretty lights!" Drusilla said in amazement, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. Darla looked sideways at her and took Luc's arm.  
  
"Calm her down, my love," she said to Angelus. "Can't she behave like an adult?"  
  
"No reason why she should," Spike said, jumping out of the carriage and banging to side to get it to move on. For once, he had cleaned himself up and was wearing a nice maroon suit. "The candles are nice."  
  
Darla sighed and shook her head. "Let's leave them behind, shall we?" she said to Luc. "Enjoy the ball rather than worrying about Dru."  
  
"That sounds wonderful," Luc replied. "Shall we, madame?"  
  
"You're going to slay them all with that accent," Darla said, smiling at him as they ascended the steps of the house towards the brightly-lit interior. "And, of course, literally."  
  
"I hope so," Luc said, handing the bowing butler at the door Darla's calling card.  
  
"I'm sure of it," Darla said softly, turning so a footman could take her cloak. "Do I look all right?"  
  
"Ravishing," Luc said with admiration, as she turned back towards him in her cornflower-blue silk.  
  
"Now, Luc," Angelus said from behind them, "no stealing of my girls, now, is there?"  
  
Luc shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said.  
  
"Good. Darla?"  
  
Darla smiled her most brilliant smile at Angelus and took his arm, and they disappeared into the midst of the ball. For a moment, Luc watched them, eyes narrowing, before following them with a shrug.  
  
He stood on the edge of the dance floor, still and unnoticed as yet by anyone, his thumb hooked in the pocket of his brand new dark green suit, the finest clothing he had ever owned. The music was lively and the tapping of the dancers' shoes on the wooden floor rhythmical, and Luc let the sounds wash over him. All around was the murmur of conversation, people gossiping and chattering and laughing; and the mingled scents of alcohol, of the green holly and ivy decorations, candles burning away, and the various perfumes surrounded him. He watched Angelus and Darla whirl past, his sire bending down to whisper something in Darla's ear that made her bare her beautiful teeth in one of her glorious smiles, returned by one of his lopsided ones. Soon after came Spike and Drusilla, much less graceful; but Drusilla, wearing a white dress and with a white rose in her hair, was sparkling, her eyes alight with sensual intoxication.  
  
"Sir?" The voice by his side made him start, and he turned to see a pretty young brunette in pink blushing nervously. "I was wondering … are you dancing?"  
  
Luc bowed in her direction. "I would be delighted," he said, and took her hand.  
  
They moved through the crowds and on to the dance floor, and Luc mustered his knowledge of waltzes and took her firmly by the waist. She smelt sweetly of vanilla, and as they moved off to the strains of the 'Blue Danube', proved to be an able and light dancer.  
  
"My name's Lucy Caldwell," the girl said, after a few turns.  
  
"Luc Tarpeau," Luc said.  
  
"Are you French?"  
  
"Is my accent that strong?" Luc said, laughing. "Oui, mademoiselle."  
  
She dimpled a charming smile at him. "And you came with Lady Darla's party, am I not correct? Are you a friend of theirs?"  
  
"I met them in Paris," Luc replied. "They invited me to stay a while with them here."  
  
"And how do you find London?" Lucy Caldwell asked, looking up at him with big brown eyes.  
  
"Fabulous," Luc said. "All I had dreamed of." He glanced sideways and caught Angelus' eye as he and Darla spun past opposite them. "And more," he continued, returning his attention to his partner.  
  
After that first dance, Luc found he had no lack of girls wanting to dance with him, and soon he grew bold enough to go and ask for dances himself. Halfway through the evening Darla came up to him and firmly took his hand, leading him away from his last partner and on to the floor.  
  
"Enjoying yourself?"  
  
"Oh yes," Luc said. "You?"  
  
She sighed. "It's tolerable. Angelus is in a mood because he thinks I was favouring you too much; Spike is now in a mood because Angelus went to dance with Dru and he doesn't want to dance with anyone but her. You seemed to be the only one of us enjoying yourself."  
  
"Drusilla seems … well, content," Luc offered.  
  
Darla rolled her eyes. "Yes, but you have to constantly watch Drusilla so she doesn't make some comment and expose us all. And all these people … have you chosen someone to eat yet?"  
  
Luc turned his head as they circled the floor. "Not yet. I'm still tempted by my first partner …" he indicated with his head, "over there. La petite brune. She's called Lucy. Smells … sweet."  
  
"She's exquisite," Darla said approvingly. "My meal's over there. The tall blond young man in the ridiculous orange coat."  
  
"Hideous," Luc agreed.  
  
"I'm going to teach him a lesson about fashion," Darla told him, conspiratorially, as they whirled past the orchestra. "Nobody should get away with clothes like that."  
  
There were another seven dances after that one, and Luc danced with five more girls. Spike had claimed Drusilla back and the two of them were seated close together in a corner, whispering about something. Angelus had disappeared.  
  
As the clock struck one, Luc went to find his 'petite brune' and invited her for a walk in the gardens. They fetched Lucy Caldwell's cloak and he put it carefully around her shoulders, and then, arms linked, they strolled out into the cool winter's night.  
  
"Are you cold?" Luc asked her, as they sat down in the shelter of a gazebo. Nobody else was around. Lucy shook her head.  
  
"I'm fine." She gazed up at him with her enormous brown eyes. "Tell me about Paris, Mr Tarpeau?"  
  
"Paris …" said Luc. "It's a cleaner city than this one, you know? But less exciting. The girls are not as pretty as you."  
  
She blushed, and giggled a little. "And are there balls like this one?"  
  
"None that I went to," Luc whispered, brushing a loose tendril of hair back and inhaling her vanilla scent. "Joyeux Noël, ma chère," he added, and let his features change, biting down gently. The girl stiffened, and would have screamed but Luc clasped a hand over her mouth as he drank, feeling the rush of exhilaration as her heart slowed and stopped.  
  
Luc arranged her body carefully, letting the cloak slip from her shoulders so it looked as if she had merely fallen asleep in the biting cold. He stood back to admire his handiwork with satisfaction, and turned to go in as footsteps sounded from behind the gazebo.  
  
"Well now, she was a pretty thing," Angelus said. "Now she's beautiful. You enjoyed the ball, did you, Luc?"  
  
Luc smiled up at his sire. "And how. Such a … glorious feast."  
  
Angelus put an arm around his shoulder. "It is that. A nice experience for your first Christmas in London. Let's hope there are many more."  
  
Luc nodded his agreement, and together they strolled back across the frosted grass towards the bright windows of the house. 


	6. Dissention

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Author's note, 29/10/2002: minor change to the last sentence.  
  
The Breton: chapter 5 - Dissention  
  
It was summer. London dozed in a wave of unfamiliar heat, the streets stinking even more than usual. The elegant grey house was cool and shadowed inside, curtains drawn tightly and only the odd gas lamp flickering in the gloom.  
  
Luc was lying on a sofa in the library reading Zola slowly, unhurriedly, letting the words wash over him and remembering Paris with a certain degree of nostalgia. He was beginning to wonder whether he should return, for a while, and as he reached the end of a chapter he put the book down and closed his eyes, sorting through half a century of memories.  
  
He was roused, rudely, by the door opening and being slammed shut again. Luc opened his eyes to see Spike lounging against a wall, striking a match and lighting one of his interminable cigarettes.  
  
"Go away," he said.  
  
"No reason why I should," Spike retorted. "I live 'ere too." He waved the cigarette to forestall Luc's next comment. "And don't go pulling rank on me, mate, 'cos you know I won't listen and it won't do you a mite of good."  
  
Luc raised his eyebrows and went back to his book.  
  
As soon as it was dark, the household emptied. Angelus and Darla hurried off in one direction, Spike and Drusilla in another. Luc stood for a moment on the doorstep before thoughtfully setting off after the latter couple into the darker streets of London.  
  
They proved to be heading towards the river and the taverns situated along its smelly banks, and Luc wandered after them at a distance, hands in his pockets, watching the people - mostly men - drink and laugh. Some were playing cards. Luc, in his old but neat suit, got a few catcalls which he longed to return by giving them a brief glimpse of his true face, but he remembered Angelus' warnings about anonymity and merely ignored them.  
  
After about a mile he had picked out a young man in a shirt and trousers walking rather shakily ahead of him, and he picked up his pace and caught him up. It was clear the man was drunk, and for Luc it was easy work to steer him into a dark corner and to pounce. The blood tasted of ale and salt, but it warmed Luc's body and eased some of the tension of the day.  
  
He emerged out of the dark corner wiping his mouth contemplatively, and was about to leave the area and go in search of something sweeter for dessert when a splash of white caught his eye and he turned towards it, wondering what it was. As he grew closer he saw that the white was the flimsy silk material of one of Drusilla's dresses, and that she was strolling along alone staring fixedly at the murky waters of the Thames. Spike was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Following Drusilla along the bank was a group of sailors, drunk and rowdy and calling out comments which so far she seemed to be ignoring. Luc walked a little faster and fell into step by her side.  
  
"Dru?" he said.  
  
She turned big wide eyes on him and smiled. "Luc! Can you hear the stars?"  
  
"They're not stars, they're sailors, drunk men," Luc said. "We should go before ."  
  
"A shillin' for the lady," one of the sailors called. There was a chorus of laughter.  
  
"I'll give two!" another voice shouted.  
  
"Drusilla, faster," Luc told her.  
  
She frowned, twisting a strand of dark hair around her fingers. "We could kill them all, make the stars happy?" she suggested. "They want blood."  
  
"They want you," Luc pressed. "Come on, we don't want Angelus to be angry ." There was a chorus from the sailors of some song. Luc gritted his teeth. "Drusilla, faster. We can't kill them here, it's too busy."  
  
"Five shillings, mate!" one of the sailors said. Luc swore under his breath in French and took Drusilla's arm.  
  
"Now walk!" he said, and hurried her away from the scene, not noticing the figure lurking ten yards behind them and watching with interest, a cigarette in his hand.  
  
Luc let go of Drusilla's arm once they were back at the house. By now her eyes had filled with pinkish tears and were threatening to stain her white dress.  
  
"I don't understand," she said, plaintively, sinking into a chair in the drawing room. "Why did you take me away from the stars, brother?"  
  
"Mon Dieu!" Luc said. "I'm not your brother, Drusilla. Soon someone was going to be hurt, and there were hundreds of people there. Where was Spike?"  
  
"My Spike went to find someone to kill," Drusilla replied, her voice dreamy. "Such red blood, so beautiful."  
  
"And I found someone, princess," Spike said, coming in through the door. "You broke up a nice scrap for me there."  
  
"There were too many people," Luc said firmly. "I thought you were with her."  
  
"Yeah, I was. Not too far behind. Didn't think of lookin' behind you, did you? Saw you take her arm an' all. Wonder what the old man's goin' to say about that one?"  
  
"You wouldn't dare," Luc said, slowly, taking in what Spike had said.  
  
"Wouldn't I?" the other vampire returned. "Oh, I'd take great pleasure in it. No more of Luc this and Luc that and why can't you be more like Luc, Will. That'd be bleedin' wonderful."  
  
"You're just jealous," Luc said coldly. "That I've seen some of the world. But then I can't see you ever leaving Drusilla."  
  
"Might not want to leave her," Spike retorted. "You goin' to try and take her from me?"  
  
Drusilla moaned, high and plaintive. "Leave me?"  
  
"Shhh, pet, nobody's goin' to leave you," Spike said soothingly.  
  
Luc felt his control slipping. "No, but you should teach your useless sire how to behave," he said.  
  
Spike's face changed, and he bared his fangs in a growl, and Luc met the change with one of his own. For a moment the tension in the room was tangible, both vampires preparing themselves to leap at the other, and then there was a roar from the doorway and Luc found himself flung across the room to land heavily and painfully in the fireplace.  
  
"What is going on?" Angelus said, yellow eyes glaring.  
  
Luc rubbed a bruised shoulder that would dissipate in a few minutes and submissively forced his features to change back into human.  
  
The explaining, and then the punishment, took until dusk the next day, by which time Luc had learnt that when Angelus had said, "don't touch Drusilla," he had meant it literally. Lying in his bed nursing the wounds he took comfort in the news from the maid Moira, when she came pale-faced to offer him her arm, that Spike was in a worse way for having dared to stand up to his elder.  
  
Angelus came to see Luc early in the morning, returning from some concert or party in maroon velvet and looking content and well fed. He sat down on the bed by Luc's side and brushed a tendril of hair away from his childe's forehead.  
  
"I'm sorry, lad." There was a pause. "Well, no, I'm not, but I missed you tonight."  
  
Luc turned his head away and tried not to look at the beloved face.  
  
"When you're better I'll take you along to Catherine's . now you'd like that, wouldn't you?"  
  
"When I'm better I'm going," Luc returned, finally meeting the dark eyes. "I'm not your servant any longer, sire. And I'm not staying to fight with Spike."  
  
"Where will you go?"  
  
"Back to France."  
  
"And you'll write?"  
  
"Yes." Luc nodded. "Every week."  
  
"There's my boy." Angelus smiled his approval. "Perhaps I'll send you Cathy anyway, as a leaving present."  
  
Luc left at sunset the following day, his wounds being superficial now and sore but not a hindrance. On the doorstep he kissed Darla's hand, scowled at Spike, and lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting his sire's. Then he climbed into the waiting hackney cab and tapped on the wall for it to leave. It would be a long time before he came back to London. 


	7. New Horizons

The Breton: chapter 6 – New Horizons  
  
Acknowledgements: http://www.greatoceanliners.net/index2.html, a mine of information about transatlantic liners. And http://www.ellisisland.com, on immigration into the States. Interesting stuff, actually.  
  
  
  
"July 18th, 1898  
  
Mon cher Angelus,  
  
Paris is beginning to bore me. The novelty of being here alone, master of my own will, has long worn off and I find myself constantly wandering past your old house and remembering my first weeks with you. They seem a long time ago now, those halcyon days when I was young and learning to hunt.  
  
I went to a salon held by the writer Rachilde yesterday. She is a strange woman; her novels do not get much respect in many quarters but I find them interesting. A fascinating scene of death in 'Monsieur Vénus' which she wrote fourteen years ago particularly attracted me. Her salon is frequented by the most outgoing minds Paris has to offer at this time.  
  
I was wondering if you would visit soon, or whether I should come to London? It is time Spike and I patched up our grievances, after all, and now he is nearly twenty perhaps he has matured somewhat? I am longing to see you. Please pass on my greetings to Darla.  
  
I must go, there is a performance of 'Tartuffe' at the Palais Royale tonight that I do not want to miss.  
  
Yours, in deepest affection,  
  
Luc."  
  
* * *  
  
"August 29th, 1898  
  
Mon cher Angelus,  
  
I have had no reply from my last letter – are you even in London at present? I beg you, please write and let me know.  
  
Luc."  
  
* * *  
  
"November 5th, 1898  
  
Sire,  
  
The year goes on and I have had no word since May. Have I done something to displease you? Please write.  
  
Your Luc."  
  
* * *  
  
"January 13th, 1899, London  
  
Luc,  
  
Do not send any more letters. He is gone, he is never coming back. Forget him. And pray do not visit us in London.  
  
Darla."  
  
Luc let the paper flutter to the desktop, and sat staring at the wall in front of him. Gone? His brain tried to process the information, and failed. Gone? Dead? Dusted?  
  
He sat in motionless silence for ten minutes, and then stood up and methodically started to clear the desk. Once everything was packed away into his writing-case, he turned to the rest of the apartment, pulling a trunk out from a cupboard and starting to pack it.  
  
He arrived in Le Havre the next evening, and before dawn had booked a second-class passage on 'La Touraine,' the liner due to depart at noon. His cabin was small and claustrophobic, but dark, and Luc lay down gratefully and went to sleep, rocked as the great ship set out from the harbour.  
  
His dreams were tormented by memories of times past – nothing specific, but a mixture dominated by the laughing face of his sire. He woke ravenous, the ship not rocking gently from side to side.  
  
Outside it proved to be dark. Walking along the deck, Luc tipped his head back and let the wind blow in his hair, left loose, and breathed in the sea air before letting it out again from his dead lungs. Around him a few other brave passengers strolled, arm-in-arm and dressed for dinner. Luc licked his lips and eyed them before deciding that at this early stage in the voyage, killing passengers or crew would probably be a bad move. He turned and headed for the stairs below deck.  
  
The voyage passed slowly. He fed off the rats inhabiting the lower decks, their blood tasting more metallic and rancid than usual, and spent little time with the other passengers. These were a mixture of upper-class socialites and businessmen, obviously crossing the Atlantic for a holiday or for work; and a much greater number of immigrants. Poor, thin, badly clothed, and from all corners of Europe, these were cheerful and talked of America as a land of opportunity. Luc, lurking and looking for blood, listened to their talk and hoped that he would also find a new life – or unlife, he thought to himself – in the New World.  
  
They docked in New York a week after leaving Le Havre. The first-class passengers were let off first, and Luc waited with his baggage amongst the second-class passengers, gazing at the lights of the great city and the bustling halls of Ellis Island. Eventually they crossed the gangplank and joined the queues leading into the baggage room.  
  
Luc let his mind wander as the line meandered slowly up the stairs. Around him was a buzz of excited chatter and the cool, clinical gaze of inspectors, who occasionally came and spoke to someone, or chalked a mark on their clothing, or pinned a label to their coat. Passing through a door at the top of the stairs, Luc was accosted by a doctor who briefly held his head still and pulled back his eyelid before nodding, marking him with a piece of white chalk, and going on to the next person.  
  
The new room was enormous, a vast, echoing hall with a roar of voices in a hundred different languages. Flags and signs pointed immigrants to a rough line, and Luc pushed through the crowds to the one which had a French flag amongst others, and waited his turn. The stench of humanity around him was making him hungry as well as making him feel slightly sick.  
  
It seemed to take hours to reach the desk of inspectors, and they fired questions at Luc which he fielded as best he could; fabricating a date of birth and profession. They gave him a passage from the Bible in French to read and asked him to add numbers up, and after a short while stamped a card and passed it to him.  
  
"Bienvenue en Amérique," the inspector said, briefly, and waved Luc past. 


	8. Blast from the Past - Chicago, 1933

The Breton: chapter 7 – Blast from the Past  
  
Luc's window was open, and from the street outside he could hear the usual evening bustle as stores closed, bars and restaurants opened, and women called to their children. He was reading a week-old copy of 'Le Figaro' giving the news of the election in Germany of a young Austrian named Adolf Hitler, and of the ensuing violence, and waiting until his appetite had really matured before going out hunting.  
  
There was a knock on the door, and one of Luc's servants poked his head around it.  
  
"Sir? There's a visitor for you."  
  
"Really?" Luc put down the paper. "All right, Mario, show them in."  
  
He adjusted his tie and waited, and after a moment, the door opened again and his visitor entered. Luc opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. Across the room, the newcomer seemed equally at a loss for words, but mastered his tongue before Luc did.  
  
"You're the last person I ever expected to find here."  
  
"You're the last person I ever expected to walk in," Luc returned.  
  
"I came to make meself known to the boss in this town," his visitor said. "So as to avoid arguments, later on. Bit late for that, eh?"  
  
"Fifty years too late," Luc said, and held out his hand. "Welcome to Chicago, Spike."  
  
Spike grinned, and shook Luc's proffered hand. "Been a while."  
  
Luc waved a hand towards the leather sofa. "Sit down. You just arrived?"  
  
"Just before dawn yesterday, actually," Spike said, flopping on to the sofa and creasing his sharp grey suit. "Found a hotel to crash in. Dru's still asleep."  
  
"And … is Darla with you?" Luc asked, surveying Spike, who apart from shorter hair seemed the same as ever.  
  
"Darla? Nah. She's in Russia, or some such place." Spike stood up again, clearly restless, and stalked around the room. "Like the place. Nice set-up you've got here, mate. How long have you been in Chicago?"  
  
"Twenty years, nearly," Luc said, leaning back in his chair. "I spent some time in New York, and then New Orleans, but they don't like those of us from the old country. Despite the language. I heard there were good pickings up here."  
  
"And are there?"  
  
Luc smiled. "Mais oui. For a long time there were the human gangs, and everyone was frightened of them. Of course nobody realised I was controlling the humans. And I like this part of town."  
  
Spike raised his eyebrows. "Why? Seems pretty nasty, apart from your place."  
  
"Listen," Luc said.  
  
Spike went to the window and stood there for a moment, Luc watching him. Eventually the younger vampire turned back into the room. "The accents, isn't it? The Paddys?"  
  
Luc nodded. "And they're a little less superstitious than the Poles, or the Italians."  
  
"No shortage of bleedin' crosses, though." Spike shrugged, and there was a pause. "You haven't seen 'im either, then?"  
  
There was a moment of electric silence in the room. Finally, Luc said, "What?"  
  
"Angelus," Spike clarified. "You haven't seen him recently?"  
  
"I thought he was dead," Luc said. "Dusted. I got a letter, from Darla … he's not?"  
  
Spike met Luc's gaze with blue eyes. "He wasn't the last time we saw him. China. More than thirty years, now."  
  
Luc closed his eyes. "Spike – what happened? What happened?"  
  
The other vampire shook his head. "Damned if I know. We were in Romania, the four of us, back in '98. Havin' a great time. Then the next thing we know, Darla drags me and Dru to a gyspy encampment and tells us we can kill whoever we like. That was one hell of a night." He smiled at the memory. "'Course, Dru's muttering her things about stars and whatnot, bless 'er, and wanting to know where he was. Darla wouldn't tell us. Just said he was gone." Spike sat down again. "Back in London, there was your pile of letters waitin' for us, and Darla threw 'em in the fire. Then off we went travelling again, and we were in China when he caught us up. Just appeared out of nowhere one night. Hung around for a couple of weeks, then he disappeared again and we ain't seen him since." He fell silent, and then added, parenthetically, "killed a Slayer in China."  
  
"Congratulations," Luc said. "This is my town, Spike."  
  
Spike waved a hand. "I'm not looking to be a Master, not yet, anyways. Plenty of time for me yet. Just, if you'll let me and Dru stay for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. Forget old grievances and that. We'll stay anyway, so you might as well be decent about it."  
  
Luc nodded. "I have no problem, Spike. It's good to see family. Really. Hungry?"  
  
"Bloody ravenous," Spike agreed.  
  
They walked together to the hotel and collected Drusilla, who seemed overjoyed to see her 'brother'. Luc called back to his house and ordered that Spike and Drusilla's bags be picked up and taken back there, and then the three of them set off, Drusilla between the two males and laughing happily. Luc joined in the banter, and told them tales of New York, of the heady Creole blood of New Orleans, of massacres that were not always his doing; in exchange for a display from Spike of killing a lithe Chinese Slayer and exclamations from Drusilla about the night sky and the lights of Chicago.  
  
Down by the shores of Lake Michigan they paused, and sat down.  
  
"Y'know, I can't remember what our fight was even about," Spike said.  
  
"You betrayed me to Angelus," Luc returned. "As I remember, we both got punished for it."  
  
"That's right!" the younger vampire exclaimed. "You got Dru out of a fight, or somethin'. God, was I ever so petty?"  
  
"Apparently, yes," Luc said, laughing. "I forgave you long since, Spike. I was angrier at those rules we lived under. That I couldn't lay a finger on Dru, or Darla."  
  
"It wasn't that I resented you for," Spike said, picking up a stone and bouncing it off the wavelets. "It was being there first. Being his favourite."  
  
"Dru was his favourite," Luc replied. Their eyes met.  
  
"My tummy's rumbling," Drusilla lamented.  
  
"Let's go and eat," Luc said. "I know a wonderful Italian neighbourhood."  
  
Spike and Drusilla remained in Chicago for two months. They spent the days talking, and playing games; Spike proved remarkably adept at poker. Luc kept an eye on his affairs, and they hunted. Drusilla drifted from one room to the next, idle, lazy. She had come to Luc a week after their arrival, sensual in a white silk nightgown trimmed with lace. Drinking from her in the midst of his passion, Luc had tasted a hint of Angelus. He thought that she must have felt the same, for she murmured "Daddy!" as she lay back against his pillows, licking her lips and sighing in contentment. Spike evidently noticed Drusilla's wanderings, but either chose not to comment or was not bothered by them; and Luc did not bring the matter up. Gone were the days of contention and competition between the two, replaced with easy banter and a fierce hunting partnership. Soon other vampires, those who had dared to remain on Luc's patch under his control, were moving away, and by the end of the first month only Luc's own household were sharing the territory. Luc thought often he had seldom been so content, not since the heady days of first blood in Paris.  
  
The weeks passed, though, and one day Spike announced their imminent departure.  
  
"It's been good," he said, lightly. "Really good. But, you know me, Luc. Gotta have me own space."  
  
"And your own girl," Luc said wryly. "Je sais. I've enjoyed having you here, Spike. And Drusilla, naturellement."  
  
"Yeah, well," Spike replied. "She reckons you taste of Angelus."  
  
"So does she," Luc said lightly. They shared a glance for a moment, and then Spike shrugged.  
  
"Whatever. We'll be off at nightfall. Catching the train from the station."  
  
"Go West, young vampire!" said Luc. "Have fun. Maybe we'll catch up again, in a few decades."  
  
"Don't get dusted."  
  
Spike went out whistling to pack his bags, and after a few minutes Drusilla drifted into Luc's study.  
  
"My Spike says we have to go. Can't you come?"  
  
"I'm still happy here, Dru," Luc told her, gently. "But I'll stay here, and any time … just come." He took her hand. "I've enjoyed it."  
  
"Mmmm." She smiled, vaguely. "Daddy would be so angry."  
  
"Daddy's not here," Luc said shortly. "You know we don't like to talk about him, Dru." He stood up and kissed her, hungrily, on the lips, and then broke away and kissed her again on the cheeks, French-style. "Ma douce Drusilla … don't let Spike order you around, you hear me?"  
  
She shook her head, and floated out again humming to herself.  
  
That evening, Luc watched the cab drive up and take his visitors away, and he stood at the window for a long time before going out to eat, remembering, reflecting … 


	9. City of Angels

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Notes: a shortish part. But heading towards the big showdown. And for Imzadi, the appearance of everyone's favourite lawyer. There will be more very soon.  
  
  
  
The Breton: chapter 8 – City of Angels  
  
The mobile rang as Luc was halfway through his second Bollywood film star of the night, making him drop the girl with annoyance. He fished around in his pocket for the phone and morphed back to human. "Yes?"  
  
"Sir?" An American voice. "We've had a sighting."  
  
Luc rested his head against the wall of the film studio and smiled. "Where?"  
  
"Los Angeles, sir."  
  
"I'm on my way."  
  
* * *  
  
Luc's plane landed at LAX two days later, and was met by two burly men who signed for the long packing-case and carried it off, leaving it in a warehouse and taking away a briefcase full of money.  
  
After a while, the lid of the case was opened from the inside, and Luc sat up and then climbed out, stretching sore limbs and taking off a heavy overcoat. He glanced at his watch, picked up a suitcase from the end of his case, and set off.  
  
"The hotel's been abandoned for a while," the vampire said. "Word is it was a paranoia demon. But he's rented it, moved in."  
  
"How long has he been here?" Luc asked, flicking through the photos.  
  
"Oh – not long," one of the other vampires said quickly.  
  
"A year," the first one said. "But he kept a low profile."  
  
"A year?" Luc said. "A whole year?" The group of vampires standing around had the grace to look abashed. Luc said calmly, "if I didn't need you, I'd dust you all now. Instead I'll do it later. Now. Who are the best legal representatives for such as ourselves?"  
  
* * *  
  
Luc gazed up with appreciation at the glass windows of the atrium, and with equal appreciation at the lights and the activity, and crossed to the efficient-looking girl at reception.  
  
"Good evening. I have an appointment with a Mr McDonald."  
  
"Mr Tarpeau?" the girl said, and waved a hand at two security guards who hurried over. "Fred and Bob'll take you right up."  
  
The security guards eyed Luc sideways on as they hustled him into the lift. Luc smiled at them, purposely showing some teeth, and adjusted his Italian silk tie. On the fifth floor they stepped out and walked along a carpeted corridor to a plain door with a plaque: 'Lindsey McDonald.' One of the guards tapped on the door, pushed it open, and said, "your nine o' clock, sir." Turning to Luc, he added, "have a good evening," and the two men hurried away.  
  
Luc went through the door and closed it behind him, finding himself in a pleasant office decorated with tasteful art and with a magnificent view over the city. Standing in front of the desk was a young man with piercing, intelligent blue eyes and a knowing smile on his face.  
  
"Welcome to Wolfram and Hart, Monsieur Tarpeau," he said. "I'm Lindsey McDonald. Forgive me if I don't shake hands." Luc noticed now that McDonald's right hand was bandaged up, a round ball of white where there should have been fingers. "Have a seat. A drink?"  
  
"Cognac, if you have any," Luc said, pulling up a chair in front of the desk and watching as his new lawyer clumsily uncorked a bottle of brandy and poured two measures.  
  
"Now, how can I help you?" McDonald asked, sitting himself and pulling a yellow legal pad to him.  
  
"I need some way of expanding my funds," Luc said. "I have enough, but I'm sure you can appreciate the need for more. I don't care what you find. Any business, or shares, that sort of thing."  
  
McDonald noted the requirements down. "I can get our partners in accounts on to it immediately. Now, I hope you don't mind, but it's customary for us to keep full records of our clients' histories. However long they may be. I did a little research and was unable to find much on you."  
  
"I've kept a low profile," Luc said. "What do you want to know?"  
  
"Place and date of birth and death," Lindsey McDonald said, pen hovering.  
  
"16th September 1816, Morbihan, Bretagne – Brittany," Luc told him. "To Paris, 10th July 1838." His lawyer wrote the dates down, did some sums, and wrote down another number.  
  
"Your sire, and grandsire, if you know them?"  
  
Luc smiled, remembering. "I'm of the Order of Aurelius. My sire is Angelus, and …"  
  
He broke off. Lindsey McDonald had put down his pen, and was grinning in a way that somehow unnerved Luc. It was not an entirely sane grin, although it was attractive.  
  
"Angelus? Angel?"  
  
"Angelus," Luc said. "You know him?"  
  
"He's the guy who chopped off my hand," Lindsey McDonald said. "You could say I know him. And your grandsire would be Darla, would it?"  
  
"You've met her too? She's here also?"  
  
"In a manner of speaking."  
  
"And he cut off your hand. It's beautiful," Luc said, wistfully. "Do you know where he is?"  
  
Lindsey McDonald laughed, then, short and without humour. "You don't know the full story, do you?"  
  
Luc watched his lawyer for a moment; watched the blue eyes and the smile and the bandaged hand. "Go on."  
  
"He's not Angelus anymore, your sire. Hasn't been for a long time. He had his soul returned to him."  
  
There was silence in the room. A clock ticked, once, twice. Luc examined his cufflinks and then glanced up again. "Je vous demande pardon … what did you say?"  
  
"Angelus has a soul," McDonald said, clearly and slowly. "He's all concerned with doing good now."  
  
Luc stood up, pushing his chair away from him, and paced the room twice. "He has a soul?" He tried to assimilate the information and found it utterly alien, yet utterly familiar, and he remembered what Spike had said about the events in Romania, more than a century earlier. "Les gitans. The gypsies. Romania. Right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"I was told he was at the Hyperion Hotel. Is that information at least correct?"  
  
"Yup." McDonald leaned back in his chair. "Monsieur Tarpeau, we have our own plans for Angel. Don't get in our way. That's a warning."  
  
Luc turned from the door. "Mr McDonald, he's my sire. You can have no conception of what that means. Don't get in my way. That's a warning too." He smiled. "Thank you for arranging my finances. I'll be in touch about that."  
  
"A pleasure." McDonald smiled a thin smile which did not extend to the eyes.  
  
Luc let the door slam behind him, and for a moment he stood stock still in the corridor before moving away purposefully. 


	10. Reunion

Disclaimer : see prologue  
  
Author's notes: see, told you it would be soon! It's not over yet. There will probably be regular, if shortish, updates until it is complete. Meanwhile, enjoy.  
  
The Breton: chapter 9 - Reunion  
  
Luc stood outside the Hyperion Hotel and examined it, noting the lights in the windows, the elegant façade and the fading paintwork, before straightening his tie and walking determinedly in.  
  
The lobby was brightly lit with a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, and there were piles of documents on the counter where the reception area presumably once was. Luc could hear voices arguing as he crossed the floor and hit the bell lying on the counter top.  
  
A head popped out from around a door. "Hi. Welcome to Angel Investigations. How may we help you?"  
  
Luc examined the girl with appreciation, noting her slim body and large, attractive eyes. "I heard you deal with supernatural phenomena."  
  
"You heard right!" the girl said, enthusiastically, picking up a pad from a desk and coming out from behind the counter. "Take a seat. What's your problem?"  
  
Luc began to spin her a tale of missing relatives and strange men with deformed faces, watching her carefully. The girl seemed to show no sign of consternation at his tale, writing down the details in a schoolgirl's hand.  
  
"Our operatives will be right on to this," she said, finally. "Now, if you'll just wait a moment, I'll fetch our payment information."  
  
She disappeared into the inner door again and Luc heard her saying in a loud whisper, "paying client!" before she reappeared, followed by a tall, well-built young black man who held out his hand.  
  
"Charles Gunn, sir. Pleasure to help you."  
  
"Pierre Dupont," Luc invented swiftly, shaking Charles Gunn's hand and measuring the strength in it. "I hope you can help."  
  
"We have an excellent success record," the girl said brightly, passing Luc a sheet covered in numbers. "Our clients are always satisfied."  
  
There was a bang, and the door of the lobby was flung open, and Luc, tucking the sheet into his jacket pocket, froze for a second as he recognised the distinctive scent of his sire.  
  
"Here's Angel now," said the girl. "He'll deal with your case."  
  
"The demon got away," an English voice said wearily. "Down Hollywood Boulevard."  
  
"We could've caught it if we'd had the car," another voice cut in, and Luc closed his eyes briefly. Under the American accent the beloved Irish vowels still lingered. He remained seated and listened as two sets of footsteps crossed the lobby, breathing in that intoxicating smell.  
  
"Angel," the girl said, evidently going to him, "client."  
  
Luc stood up, and turned around, and caught his first glimpse of his sire for over a century whilst Angelus was still facing the other way. The same height, or almost; shoulders now slightly hunched instead of the old confident posture under a leather jacket; short, spiky hair to replace the shoulder-length locks.  
  
Angel's shoulders sagged even more as the girl gave him the news, but then Luc could see him gathering himself together, and he turned to face the 'client'.  
  
For a moment, there was silence, and Luc had a moment to take in the unchanged features, the sight bringing back a whirl of submerged memories, before Angelus spoke.  
  
"Cordelia, Gunn, Wesley. Go into my office and stay there. Now." There was a note of command in his voice, but Luc thought it lacked some of the steel of old. The three humans glanced at each other and then back at Angelus.  
  
"But ." the girl began.  
  
"Cordy. Now."  
  
With mutterings of confusion, they did as he said, and Luc and his sire were alone.  
  
"Hello, Luc," Angelus said. Luc took a step towards him, but his sire held out a hand. "Stop right there."  
  
Luc stopped moving. "Is that all you can say?" he asked, and then slipped into French. "Sire - it's over a hundred years. Are you not surprised? Pleased, even, to see me?"  
  
"The last time one of the family came to see me," Angelus said in English, "he tried to kill me. And the last time I saw Spike, he tortured me. So no, I'm not pleased to see you. It'll be better for all of us if you leave, now, quickly."  
  
"I didn't believe it," Luc said. "When they told me, that you had . a soul, of all things, I didn't believe it."  
  
"Believe it." Angelus' face softened, slightly. "And although I know that it will mean nothing to you, I'm so sorry, for what I did."  
  
"To me?" Luc said, with surprise. He moved forwards another metre. "Why? I was a boy without a future. You gave me one. I love this life. You know that. You should know that."  
  
Angelus shook his head. "I killed you. I used you. I remember, Luc, the first day you came, looking for work, and all I could think of was how it would feel to take your innocence, your enthusiasm, to corrupt them. And, God, I succeeded, didn't I?"  
  
"Aren't you . weren't you proud?" Luc said, hating this figure that wore his sire's face, had his sire's inflections, but whose sentiments were so alien to the vampire he had worshipped.  
  
Angelus looked down, fiddling with a ring on his finger. "Yes. You were such an apt pupil. So damn good at it. I expect you're still the same. You'd have to be, to have survived, all these long years."  
  
Luc felt a sudden wave of revulsion rise up in him. "You're not my sire, not any longer. I'm not surprised that Darla cast you away. Mon Dieu, Angelus, je . I would have done anything for you. I searched the world for you, and this - this is what I find? Something . with regrets? Apologies? Why did I bother?"  
  
He crossed the lobby and met his sire's eyes, and found that they had lost the old spark of command and of ruthlessness; and close to, Angelus smelt not just of sire, but of humanity, and of animal blood. Luc felt sick too now, and with out another word he hurried up the steps and away.  
  
Across the street he paused to gather himself together, and noticed a limousine pulling up outside the back entrance, and a slim, petite blonde figure climbing out and hurriedly disappearing inside. He narrowed his eyes and tried to place the tug of recognition, before turning in the opposite direction and going in search of food.  
  
He felt more composed after a prostitute he had come upon outside a bar, and went inside the bar for a cognac, cradling the drink between his hands and trying to pull up a picture of Angelus as he used to be, in silk and velvet with a mocking smile and a light in those dark eyes that had not been there this night. He failed. Instead, the image was replaced by an apologetic gaze and a soft American accent, hunched shoulders and overwhelming humanity.  
  
He finished his drink and stood up, pushing a note on to the bar to pay for the cognac before going out, heading with a purpose back towards his rented apartment; the back of his mind mulling over the appearance of the blonde woman outside the Hyperion earlier that night, but most of his attention centred on what to do now. As he walked down the orange-lit streets, Luc thought to himself that it was going to be interesting. 


	11. Changed Circumstances

Acknowledgements to the wonderful Breton band Tri Yann. 'Les prisons de Nantes' is definitely one of their best!  
  
The Breton: chapter 10 - Changed Circumstances  
  
"Dans les prisons de Nantes," sang Luc into the microphone. "Lan digidigidan, lan digidigidigidan; dans les prisons de Nantes, y'avait un prisonnier, y'avait un prisonnier." He looked out into the crowd of varied demons as he attacked the tune with all he had, and particularly at the dandily dressed green one who called himself the Host. The Host was now watching him closely and frowning, clutching a glass of something red that clearly wasn't blood. "Si je reviens à Nantes," he continued, and came to a halt with a repeat of "y'avait un prisonnier." There was sporadic applause and Luc laid the microphone down as the opening bars of 'Big Spender' blasted out of the speakers.  
  
The Host was still frowning.  
  
"Well?" Luc said.  
  
"Interesting choice," the demon replied, cocking his horned head on one side. "Veeery interesting."  
  
"I came for a reading!" Luc said.  
  
"Hold your horses, now, chérie!" the Host returned. "I didn't like what I saw. Not a pretty sight, your aura, I can tell you that. And you're pining away for him, aren't you?"  
  
Luc felt like ripping the demon's head off, but reined in his anger. "Tell me what I should do."  
  
"Well, honeybun," the Host said, shrugging, "you have to do something, that's clear enough. The path you've started on may work, or it may not. But I'll tell you this for free, Angel-face isn't one to mess with. His path's darker than yours. If I were you, which, thankfully, I'm not, I'd head back to the old country. You miss it."  
  
"Bretagne?" Luc said. "I don't think so."  
  
The Host looked nonchalant. "That's my advice. Take it or leave it. And go outside to kill something, Caritas is a sanctuary."  
  
Luc snarled at him and turned on his heel to leave the bar.  
  
The security guards tried to stop him as he marched into Wolfram and Hart, but the receptionist on duty evidently recognised him as a client and waved him past, saying something into the headpiece she was wearing. Luc smiled grimly and stepped into the lift with a pair of nervous-looking lawyers.  
  
Lindsey McDonald's office was dim and gloomy, and as Luc banged the door shut behind him he could hear in the shadows not one but two heartbeats.  
  
"Mr McDonald," he said, "I need a word."  
  
Lindsey McDonald, his face illuminated by the blue glow from his computer screen, looked up. "Monsieur Tarpeau. You know, my clients usually make an appointment." He stood up. "How can I help?"  
  
Luc's attention had wandered to the other heartbeat in the room, and he looked towards the corner, where a form was blanketed by the shadows from the window blinds. There was something familiar about the vague scent emanating from the figure, the same sort of familiarity he had felt on seeing the blonde woman outside the Hyperion. He delved into his memories, sorting them out, remembering unpacking a pile of suitcases, a bottle of expensive perfume, back in Paris, back when he was still alive; and he remembered also the same scent from an empty, feminine room, the night before he went to Nantes.  
  
"Darla?" he said, questioningly. The figure in the corner stirred.  
  
"Luc?" A soft voice, wondering. The darkness stirred, and with the lights from the city outside just glinting off blonde hair, Darla came forward. "Luc - no, it can't be, I'm dreaming again." Her hair had been cut, Luc noticed, now shorter in a modern, minimal style to replace the elaborate curls of the nineteenth century, and instead of pastel silks and lace she was dressed in something neutral and unfussy. But it was indubitably Darla. "Lindsey?" she said.  
  
"I believe you two know each other," the lawyer said, with that slight smile curling his lips.  
  
"So it was you I saw outside the hotel, the other night," Luc said.  
  
"Angelus' hotel?" Darla returned. "Yes. I didn't know you were there. Did you see him?"  
  
"I saw him." Luc paused, and in the silence heard again, clearly, the two heartbeats. He turned and looked around the room, realising as he did so that there was nobody else there. He stepped closer to Darla. "Are you . vivante?" he asked, falling into French.  
  
"Alive . yes," Darla murmured. "Such a strange feeling. Such a horrible feeling."  
  
"How?" Luc demanded.  
  
Lindsey McDonald lay back in his chair. "She's working with us."  
  
"He killed me, Luc," Darla said, plaintively. "Dusted me."  
  
"Angelus?" Luc asked. "He killed you?"  
  
"Stake through the heart more than three years ago," Lindsey said, almost cheerfully. "Bit of magic brought her back."  
  
"Human," Darla said, big eyes meeting Luc's. "But you haven't changed, have you, Luc? You're the same sweet boy he chose all those years ago." She put a warm hand up to his cheek, caressing it.  
  
Luc pushed her away, seized by the same revulsion he had felt in the Hyperion two nights earlier, the twin heartbeats of the lawyer and the girl who had been his grandsire enticing and hypnotic. "Has everything changed?" he asked, furiously. "Spike and Drusilla - are they dead, or alive too?"  
  
"Still undead, as far as I know," Darla said, cradling her hand with the other one. "I haven't seen them for twenty years."  
  
"William the Bloody was sighted in LA a year ago," Lindsey put in, tapping keys on his computer. "Paid a visit to Angel and then left again, back to the Hellmouth. Nothing's been seen of Drusilla for a while."  
  
"So what use do you have for Darla?" asked Luc, coming closer to the lawyer and staring at him.  
  
"She's helping us with a project," Lindsey said with utter calm, meeting Luc's glare with those blue eyes.  
  
"Angelus?" Luc questioned, knowing the answer before it came.  
  
"Classified."  
  
"Angelus." There was no doubt in his mind.  
  
"Angel," corrected Lindsey. "If we had Angelus back, there'd be no need for Darla."  
  
"So she serves a purpose," Luc said, nodding. "Well, as a matter of fact, I came to ask you for the same thing. I want my sire back. You must have connections to the best sorcerers of this town. I want to find one. Get the soul taken away."  
  
Lindsey shook his head, resting his elbow in the sling on the desktop. "Wolfram and Hart can't, and won't, do that, Monsieur Tarpeau. Our purpose is not to unleash Angelus on this city."  
  
"Mine is," Luc said, low and certain. "And if you won't help me, then I'll do it alone."  
  
His lawyer pursed his lips, frowning. "I warned you last time not to stand between us and Angel, Monsieur Tarpeau. We can't keep you as a client if you persist in this course."  
  
"Then I'll go to someone who can," Luc said. "You're fired, Mr McDonald." He turned towards Darla, and suppressing his revulsion of her humanity, took her hand and kissed it in the old formal way. "Adieu, Darla," he said. "Should you tire of that heartbeat, come and find me."  
  
She smiled, but it was not a happy smile. "I already am tired of it," she said. "But I want him to do it."  
  
Luc had expected this response, and he let her living hand drop. "Bon. Adieu, alors. Vous m'avez manquée, Darla." He smiled at her, and without looking back left the office. As the door closed behind him, he heard Lindsey asking what it was he had said, and Darla's reply, "He missed me." 


	12. Enchantment

Disclaimer etc.: see prologue  
  
The Breton: chapter 11 - Enchantment  
  
Luc bent over the telephone directory, running his finger down the columns of numbers under the heading "Occult Stores". Every now and then he paused, and wrote down an address and a number. Lying on the table by the directory was a pile of magic books, next to a glass filled with cognac, from which Luc took an occasional sip. He had been working for thirty minutes, and was nearing the end of the list.  
  
When he reached it, he drank down the remainder of the cognac and shrugged on a leather jacket draped over a nearby chair, putting the list into a pocket and picking up his apartment keys from the sideboard.  
  
The first magic shop on the list proved to be a shabby, badly kept place with a few incense sticks and books on love potions. The woman dressed all in black with braids hanging over her face looked bewildered when Luc asked her about spells to remove curses, and he leant across the counter and snapped her neck before leaving the shop, the bell clanging noisily as the door closed.  
  
The next one turned out to be little better, but there were other customers, and Luc left the place quickly and quietly. In the third one, there was a smell of musty pages and dried herbs, and the shelves behind the deserted counter were filled with jars and books, and a door leading into the back of the shop looked hopeful. Luc rang the bell and waited.  
  
After a while, a short, middle-aged man dressed in a shirt and ordinary trousers shambled out of the door, which opened to give a tantalising glimpse of bookshelves. "How can I ." he began, and then stopped and looked suspiciously at Luc. "You're a vampire."  
  
Luc smiled in relief. "And you might be the person I'm looking for. I need a spell doing."  
  
"I don't serve the undead," the man said, reaching under the counter and banging down on its surface a large cross with its end sharpened into a point.  
  
"I'm not such a fool to kill a witch," Luc said. "I have money. You do the spell, I pay you. It's simple."  
  
"Hmmm." The shopkeeper frowned. "Doesn't sound simple. What sort of spell?"  
  
"Removal of a curse," Luc said.  
  
"Tricky."  
  
"You'll be well-paid."  
  
"You'd better come through," the shopkeeper said, picking up the cross- shaped stake and leading the way into a spacious backroom lined with bookshelves and equipped with a coffee table and two armchairs. He gestured Luc into one of them and took the other himself. "Is the subject of the spell also a vampire?"  
  
"Technically."  
  
"What do you mean, technically? Either it is or it isn't."  
  
"Then yes," Luc replied. "My sire. He was cursed a century ago. I want the curse lifting."  
  
The shopkeeper was frowning again. "You're not talking about Angelus, are you?"  
  
"How did you know?" asked Luc, intrigued.  
  
"Everyone knows about Angelus," the shopkeeper said. "For the magical community in LA he's a godsend. Kills the nasty demons - no offence to present company - keeps the good ones that need magic doing. Him and his crew use our books too. Heck, one of my colleagues swears his life was changed by the guy fifty-odd years back. Didn't know he'd sired a male childe. Just the crazy visionary."  
  
"Drusilla," Luc said. "It seems he kept me and that Puritan idiot fairly quiet."  
  
"So who're you?" the shopkeeper asked, twirling his stake.  
  
"My name's Luc Tarpeau," Luc introduced himself. The shopkeeper looked midly impressed.  
  
"The Breton, right?"  
  
Luc raised his eyebrows and examined the little man with renewed interest. "You've heard of me?"  
  
"Well, since Angelus came to town vamps have been bigger on our agenda," the shopkeeper explained. "I took it on myself to do some reading up. Not much on you, but you got mentioned once or twice. Memoirs of a gangster in Chicago in the thirties mentions you. The mind behind Al Capone, was how he put it."  
  
"I merely provided a little motivation for Mr Capone," Luc said, secretly thrilled.  
  
"Yeah? Well, it made a great read." The shopkeeper fidgeted. "Now, not like I mean to go against your request, Mr Tarpeau, but you see I can't possibly accede to it."  
  
"Can't possibly?"  
  
"Not to mention the difficulties it would get me in with my colleagues," the shopkeeper said, "the spell itself would need an extremely powerful witch. I'm no one. I wouldn't run this shop if I was. That curse was a Rom one, originally, right? The Roms still have more power than us non-Roms. It's genetic, inherited. And by all accounts, the lady who laid that curse on Angelus was a mighty witch. Then the other who put it back on him, even more powerful. Sent ripples through our world, that did."  
  
"Put it back?" asked Luc.  
  
"I don't know the details," the shopkeeper said. "But rumour has it that a couple of years ago, Angelus was back in the old ways. Did a lot of killing on the Hellmouth. Killed a gypsy woman, even. But the Slayer and her friends ended it, and one of them re-cursed him. It would take someone of her power to take it off again." He paused. "Or, so I'm told, a moment of perfect happiness."  
  
Luc snorted a laugh. "Perfect happiness? How . well, it's ridiculous. So you won't try?"  
  
"I can't. I'm just not that powerful."  
  
Luc stood up, and shrugged. "You know what I said earlier?" he said, nonchalantly. "About not killing a witch? Well, I wasn't being entirely serious."  
  
The shopkeeper stood up too, brandishing his stake. "I thought that might be the case," he said, outwardly keeping calm; but Luc could hear the accelerated rate of his heart and the way that he was trying to hide breathing problems. He smiled at the little man, and let his features change while he was still smiling, batting the stake aside with a blow of his hand, and grabbing the shopkeeper by the neck.  
  
The witch's blood tasted of power and the Mexican food he had evidently had for his evening meal, and was richly satisfying. Luc threw the body down with a contented sigh before going to hunt amongst the bookshelves for answers to some of his questions.  
  
Back in his apartment he settled into a chair and began to read, making notes as he did so and inserting bookmarks between pages. He read all night, getting up from the chair at dawn to close the curtains of the room before going back to the chair and continuing to read. At noon, his eyes beginning to feel heavy, he drew a line under the bottom of his notes and closed the last book. The pile lay in the corner as he stripped off his clothes and slid in between his silk sheets, falling instantly asleep to dream of magic and dancing gypsy girls, lit by the flames of a roaring bonfire the colour of blood. 


	13. Dark Magic

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
The Breton: chapter 12 - Dark Magic  
  
"Magic?" said the vampire, scratching his head. "I dunno. Never had the need to do magic."  
  
"Well," said Luc, brusquely, "now I have need for a helper. I can't see why you wouldn't want to help me - I pay well."  
  
The vampire fiddled with the fraying hem of his t-shirt, yellow eyes shying away from Luc's gaze. For a moment, Luc wondered (not for the first time) why so many of the young vampires he had encountered seemed incapable of switching out of their game faces.  
  
"It's like this," the vampire said eventually. "This spell thing you're wantin' to do, right, it's against Angel, isn't it? See, that's the part I don't like. I've seen too many of my mates dusted by him and his gang of humans, and I'd kind of like to avoid that myself."  
  
"There's no reason why anything should happen to you, imbecile," Luc said. "We do the spell, we get out. Simple. Then, the fun starts."  
  
"That's the other part, what you call 'fun'," the other vampire said. "I've gotta friend, you see, guy who was up in the Hellmouth coupla years ago last time that soul came off. Do you know how many vamps got dusted, one way or the other, that time?"  
  
"A fair few, I'd guess," Luc shrugged. "But I can protect you, if you work with me."  
  
"How?" The vampire folded his arms and looked quietly confident. "Tell me how."  
  
"People used to understand a debt," Luc said. "Angelus understands debt. He'll do this for me."  
  
The other vampire considered this. "If I don't wanna do it?"  
  
"Then I'll dust you, now," Luc said. "Your choice. Die now, or take a chance, earn some cash, and I'll do my best to help you."  
  
"I wouldn't call that a choice," the vampire returned. He held out his hand. "Done."  
  
Luc shook. "C'est fait. Do you know where Caritas is?"  
  
"The karaoke bar run by that green guy?" the vampire asked. "Yeah, I know it."  
  
"I'll meet you there, tomorrow, at ten," Luc said.  
  
The vampire grinned, and turned to leave. As he got to the door, he paused and made an awkward little bow. "Nice workin' with you."  
  
"A demain," Luc called, watching the door shut, before looking down with a smile at his notes, and reading again for the tenth time, "The soul cannot be destroyed, but it can be transferred from one vessel to another. Therefore a suitable vessel must be provided." Next to the sentence he added a large tick.  
  
* * *  
  
"That'll be twenty dollars," the girl behind the desk at the New Age shop said, packing up the incense sticks, candles and coloured powders and passing the paper sack to Luc. He paid her and added the sack to other ingredients, a terracotta bowl, and what looked like a glass paperweight which were already in a large rucksack he had bought especially for the occasion. With a last lingering look at the girl's generous cleavage, displayed in a low-necked corset top, he left the shop, wishing that the spell did not require the caster to have fasted for ten hours beforehand.  
  
He threw the bag into the passenger seat of the car he had rented, a low- slung red convertible, and set off to Caritas. It was still only half-past nine by the time he arrived, and he left the car in a convenient space with the bag in the trunk and went inside to listen to the music and sip water sparingly.  
  
The green-skinned Host eyed him sideways and pursed his lips, but did not stop to speak to Luc in return for a smile. Luc felt at once tense and excited, dreaming of the success of his spell, and running over the Latin words of it in his mind, as he waited for the other vampire, the vessel, to arrive. On the stage a large and ugly blue demon was belting out 'Bohemian Rhapsody', to the evident enjoyment of everyone in the bar, and Luc leant back in his chair and allowed the music to wash over him, imagining the nights to come, when he and Angelus and probably a newly-vamped Darla would roam the town, drinking off movie stars and pulling this so-called sanctuary to the ground. Idly, Luc wondered if Angelus' brunette companion would be worth turning, or even either of the two young men. That train of thought led him on to wondering where Spike and Drusilla now were, and he was remembering Chicago with nostalgia when his assistant arrived and sat down heavily at the table.  
  
"Nice and prompt, I see," Luc said, glancing up. "Good. Let's be off, then, shall we?"  
  
"No time for a drink?" the other vampire said.  
  
"No time for a drink, no. Allez, my car's just outside."  
  
The vampire admired the little convertible and was evidently comforted for the lack of a drink by the prospect of a drive in it. Luc took them a short way and halted by the locked gates of a park. He passed the rucksack to his helper and snapped the padlocked chain to allow them entry.  
  
He had scouted out the place three nights previously, wanting somewhere quiet but with plenty of space to allow the casting to be carried out. Now, he led the other vampire to a wide open green and bade him stand still whilst he took out the bags of coloured powders, and began methodically to scatter a deep blue powder in a circle in the centre of the green; followed by yellow and then red, placing the circles so their edges touched but did not overlap and so that each circle touched each of the others. The other vampire looked on in interest but said nothing. Next Luc carefully took out the glass orb, dull still but threaded through its centre with a cloud of glass, and placed it in the yellow circle, covering it with a cloth. Candles followed, placed around the circles, and lit; Luc stuck incense in the ground between the candles and surveyed his handiwork with pleasure.  
  
He had programmed the number of Angel Investigations into his mobile phone and now he flicked it open and dialled.  
  
The girl answered, with a cheerful, "Angel Investigations, we help the helpless!"  
  
"Put Angelus on the line," Luc said briefly.  
  
"I'm afraid he's not here at the moment," the girl said guardedly. "Can I take a message?"  
  
"This is Luc Tarpeau. I want to speak to Angelus," Luc repeated. He heard a click as the phone was laid on some surface, and in the background the girl saying,  
  
"It's that vamp again. The one who was here the other day." Then footsteps, and a pause, and Angelus, pitching his voice low,  
  
"Luc?"  
  
"You know, the French one," the girl said in a hiss. "He wants to speak to you."  
  
There was another moment of silence, and then the phone was picked up again.  
  
"I told you to get out of town," Angelus said in French.  
  
"And I will," Luc answered in the same language. "But first, one more meeting? Sire? I'm in McAllister Park. Come now, and I'll leave." He waited.  
  
"Why should I do that?"  
  
"Because I won't go otherwise," Luc said. "Come armed, if you like. I don't care. Just come. Sire," he added after a brief pause.  
  
"Why should I trust you?" Angelus asked. "You made it very clear, Luc, that you despise me now."  
  
"I despise your soul," Luc said. "You - that's a very different matter." He waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the another, and examining the stars faintly visible behind the orange glow of the Los Angeles' night.  
  
"I'll come." Angelus sounded resigned. "But my friends will expect me back, and if I don't return, you can expect a quick death. Give me fifteen minutes."  
  
There was a click as the phone went down, and Luc slowly switched off his mobile with a smile on his face.  
  
In the end it was just under twenty minutes before the dark shape of Angelus appeared, coming softly through the night. As he approached Luc and the rings of candles, he shot a quick glance at the other vampire, who was waiting in his circle, and then changing his gaze to Luc he drew a sword from a concealed sheath under his coat.  
  
"I came armed."  
  
"I see," Luc said. Angelus was standing on the very edge of the blue circle, scarcely visible on the grass. Luc took a step forwards into the yellow circle, and waited. His sire glanced around at the candles.  
  
"Atmosphere?"  
  
"They remind me of old times," Luc said.  
  
"And -" Angelus gestured towards the other vampire.  
  
"I prefer someone else getting their hands dirty," Luc explained. He met Angelus' dark eyes, and willed him to take one more step.  
  
Slowly, he did, and Luc felt a wave of triumph rush through him. He pulled a bag of purple powder from his pocket, cast a handful into the air around Angelus, and said, "Be ye frozen!"  
  
"You tricked me!" Angelus said, his eyes narrowing as he tried, and failed, to move. Luc nodded.  
  
"You'll thank me for it, in a short while." He pulled off the cloth, exposing the glass orb, and picked up his notes. With an incense stick in his left hand, he began to chant.  
  
"This . won't . work," Angelus ground out, his hands clenched into fists. The other vampire was bouncing up and down with excitement. "Luc, stop, now!"  
  
Luc kept chanting, his eyes on the words, only occasionally flicking to the orb.  
  
"Luc - je t'ordonne, arrête!" Angelus said, but his words were cut off by a brilliant stream of blue light that shot suddenly from the orb to him, and then to the other vampire, linking the three in a triangle of luminescence.  
  
Luc chanted, his words coming faster, and as he got to the end of the spell the candles burnt high in sheets of flame and the blue light became unbearable. In the other two circles, Angelus and the other vampire were flung to the ground.  
  
The candles went out, and there was darkness.  
  
Author's notes: so where do I go from here? Actually, I've a pretty good idea, but would appreciate suggestions or wishes whatever. Tell me what you think! 


	14. Beginnings and Ends

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Author's notes: Originally, I was going to tie things up here. A brief, in- canon chapter, charting the failure of the spell and Luc's departure for Australia, or somewhere. And then I realised it'd be a lot more fun, and probably more in keeping with Luc's story, to go completely AU from here. Consider season 2 cancelled, folks. This chapter contains character death. Be warned. (If anyone wants a canon chapter, contradicting this, let me know and I'll write one. I might write one anyway, actually.)  
  
The Breton: chapter 13 - Beginnings and Ends  
  
In the darkness, Luc felt for the orb and picked it up, holding it out. The sphere was now dark and quiet, and he put it down again as he waited for his night-vision to reassert itself after the brightness of the candles.  
  
Gradually, two quivering lumps distinguished themselves from the night: one Angelus and one the other vampire. It was he Luc went to first, grabbing the vampire's arm and hauling him to his feet.  
  
"Not me, not me, not me," the other vampire was muttering, in a low voice. "It wasn't me."  
  
Luc felt a wave of euphoria flow through him, and he grinned. "Merci, mon ami," he said to the other vampire. "Good job."  
  
The vampire looked up at him with fear-crazed eyes. "It wasn't me!" he said, desperately.  
  
"Adieu," Luc said, pulling a stake from his coat pocket and ramming it into the other's heart.  
  
He brushed the dust off and with trepidation, anticipation, and a mixture of fear and joy, turned to the other bundle on the ground. Angelus' body was still shaking from the aftermath of the spell, and instead of helping him up too Luc stood back and waited.  
  
After a few minutes, the shaking stopped, and his sire rolled to all fours, head down; and then after another moment he stood up.  
  
"Dru?" he said, glancing around, and clearly not seeing Luc. "The vortex worked? - where's that Slayer?" He paused, and closed his eyes. "Oh, damn."  
  
Luc slid his stake back into his pocket.  
  
Angelus opened his eyes and turned to face Luc. "Well then," he said, head on one side, a grin stretching his lips, "comment vas-tu, mon Luc? Quite the little magician, aren't you? Where's my soul?"  
  
"Scattered to the four corners of the earth," Luc said. "I dusted it. It's gone."  
  
"You freed me."  
  
"I freed you, sire."  
  
"Bloody nerve!" Angelus said, and hit Luc, hard. "Tricked me into it. No warning. Freezing cold park and not a bite to eat. Idiot."  
  
"You wouldn't have said yes if I'd asked," Luc pointed out, putting one hand to the trickle of blood from where Angelus' blow had broken the skin of his cheek. His sire stared at him for a second, and then laughed.  
  
"I guess not." He came up to Luc, and bent to lick away the blood running down his face. "I missed you." He stood back, and held Luc at arm's length to examine him. "The perfect modern vampire, aren't you? How you've grown. You've done well, I hear. Chicago . Tokyo ."  
  
"You researched me?" Luc asked.  
  
"No, *he* researched you," Angelus snapped. "That . thing I've been. And Wes, and Cordy, and Gunn." He smiled, luxuriously. "Wes . Cordy . Gunn . oh, I'm going to enjoy this, Luc. We are going to have such a good time."  
  
"Where shall we start?" Luc said.  
  
"The Hyperion. They're expecting their pet hero back."  
  
They chose to leave Luc's hired car abandoned where he had parked it, and they took Angelus' black convertible. Luc sat sideways in his seat and drank in the sight of his sire as he pushed the car fast through the night time streets. This time he knew it was for real, this time he knew Angelus was back to stay - with him, forever.  
  
At the Hyperion Angelus drove into the underground car park and showed Luc the way up into the hotel itself.  
  
"Stay in the basement, my boy, until I call you. Don't want to give the game away too fast."  
  
Luc nodded, and sat down on the third step leading up to the lobby, and listened.  
  
"Hey, Angel!" the girl said, cheery and bright, from a distance. "Did'ya stake him?"  
  
"Yes, he's gone."  
  
"Great. Wes and Gunn went off to fight a demon."  
  
"So . you're all alone, Cordy?" Angelus said, his voice low and just audible to Luc in the basement. There was a pause, and then a squeak from Cordelia.  
  
"Personal bubble!" she said. "Angel! Is there something wrong with my hair?"  
  
"Absolutely nothing," Angelus returned. "It smells wonderful."  
  
"Is this to do with that French guy? Or those dreams you've been having?" the girl demanded. "Waking up your inner vampire, or something?"  
  
"Cordelia, my inner vampire's always awake," Angelus said, laughing.  
  
For a moment Luc heard nothing, and then a scrape as a chair was pushed back, and a hollow scrabble followed by the crash of a drawer thudding to the floor.  
  
"Stay back!" the girl said. "I'm warning you . any closer and it's a Holy Water shower followed by a nice stake through the heart. My Angel doesn't laugh, not like that."  
  
"I'm just happy, after staking Luc," Angelus said, his voice full of contrition. "Didn't mean to scare you."  
  
"What did he do?" she asked, her voice cracking just a little. "What did he do, Angel?"  
  
"Cordy, put the stake down," Angelus said. "I'm not going to hurt you. You know I'd never hurt you. That's right."  
  
Luc heard the sound of sobbing, the girl's, and a muffled, "oh, Angel, I thought he'd try and do something to you, or kill you."  
  
"Hey now, I came back," Angelus said. "Shhh, Cordelia, don't cry." The girl's sobs subsided a little, and now Angelus' voice came again, with a note of laughter in it. "And don't scream either. Trust your instincts, never words. Luc!"  
  
Luc stood up and pushed open the basement door, coming out into the lobby lit from on high. Angelus had the girl in a hold that was half an embrace, but she was struggling as hard as she could.  
  
"There should be ropes or chains in one of her desk drawers," Angelus said through gritted teeth. Find them. Bind her."  
  
Luc nodded, and digging through the drawers soon discovered a pair of handcuffs with a key, and a length of rope. He did Cordelia's legs first, and then caught her hands and swiftly cuffed them together. Angelus laid her on the sofa, taking his hand off her mouth.  
  
"Bastard!" Cordelia said, viciously. "Both of you. I knew something was up, I knew it!"  
  
"You underestimated my Luc," Angelus said, perching on the coffee table. "Compared him to Penn, or Spike - the hothead. Luc's a lot cleverer than they. I don't think I ever properly introduced him, did I? Luc Tarpeau, Cordelia Chase."  
  
"Enchanté," said Luc, gravely.  
  
"I'm not," Cordelia snapped back. "Wes and Gunn'll be back any minute, and they'll have both of you dust in no time."  
  
"Thanks for reminding me," Angelus said, and went across to the phone. Cordelia sagged, and closed her eyes. Luc watched her as his sire dialled and then spoke. "Hi, Wesley? Yeah, it's Angel. Look, don't worry about coming back tonight, we can debrief in the morning. Get some sleep. See you. Bye." He came back to the sofa and settled down on the floor near Cordelia's head. "What should I do to them, do you think, Cordy? Turn them? Kill them? Torture them?" Angelus turned to Luc. "Luc - any ideas?"  
  
"I'm sure we can think of something," Luc said, enjoying himself hugely. "Something appropriate." He returned his sire's grin. "But what about her?"  
  
Angelus reached out, and caressed Cordelia's cheek. "Ah, the fair Cordelia. I missed you out, back in Sunnydale, didn't I? Jenny for Giles . Willow's fish . but no presents for the May Queen."  
  
"Didn't bother me," Cordelia spat out.  
  
"So ." Angelus said, "what shall we do with you?"  
  
Luc came and joined him on the floor, leaning against the coffee table. "I think we should turn her."  
  
"Preserve her beauty forever?" said Angelus. "Yes, perhaps we should. But then remember she's a Seer. I've already got one childe with visions."  
  
"She's much saner than Drusilla," Luc pointed out. "I think she won't go mad."  
  
"Damn right I won't go mad!" Cordelia said. "Not going to drink either. I remember you saying that it had to be your own choice, once, Angel."  
  
"Angelus, please!" Angelus said. "Don't go thinking some of him is left inside, because, honey, it ain't. This time, no little Wiccan is bringing me back."  
  
"Wes might," Cordelia suggested. "He's a Watcher. He knows stuff. He can call Giles. I bet he'd be interested in this. So would Buffy. I'm sure she'd love to come and kill you even deader than you are."  
  
Angelus snarled. "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. The Slayer with friends. You know what I do to Slayers' friends, Cordy."  
  
"Bore them to death," she said. "It's all me, me, me, with you, isn't it? You're right. There isn't any of Angel in you. He cared. He helped. All you care about is you."  
  
Angelus looked at her for a moment, his head on the side. "I guess." He leant in close to her. "And you know what, Cordy? At the moment, I'm hungry. I'm not going to turn you. We are going to drain you, slowly, carefully, drop by precious drop."  
  
Luc, gazing at Cordelia's neck, licked his lips in anticipation.  
  
Her eyes went wide. "No . oh, God, no ." And then there was an ear- splitting scream, and she writhed on the sofa.  
  
Angelus rolled his eyes. "A vision? Now?" He looked up at the ceiling. "Hey, guys, bit late!"  
  
"It's Wes . and Gunn," Cordelia stammered out, between screams. "God, they're so scared . so angry . Caritas, broken . the Host . it hurts, it hurts so much . Wes, no!" She screamed again, and then the scream died into whimpers, and finally she lay still. After a moment the eyes in the pallid face opened, and fixed themselves on Angelus. "Do it, then. And I hope someone slays you, one day, and makes it slow and painful. To punish you for that."  
  
"You'll never know," Angelus said cuttingly, and letting his features shift, he bent over Cordelia's neck, and bit. After a moment, Luc unlocked the handcuffs and followed his sire's example, taking the girl's wrist and biting down, letting the warm liquid trickle slowly down his throat, feeling as her heart struggled, slowed, and, finally, minutes after they had begun, stop. As one, Angelus and Luc stood back and with the delicious warmth of a meal, let their faces change back to human. They contemplated the body in front of them, the eyes closed as if sleeping, head turned slightly to one side. Her hair was spread on the red of the sofa, dark against alabaster skin.  
  
For a moment, there was silence, and then Angelus turned away. "Bitch," he said briefly. "Who's next?" 


	15. Retail and Rescue

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Author's notes: thanks for continued reviews. This is a rather dialogue- heavy chapter, I'm afraid.  
  
The Breton: chapter 14 - Retail and Rescue  
  
"Tonight," said Angelus, "Darla."  
  
Luc turned on his side and watched his sire button up a red silk shirt. "What about the lawyer?"  
  
"Lindsey? The blue-eyed boy? What do you think?"  
  
"I don't know," Luc said.  
  
Angelus ran his hand along rows of clothes. "I hardly kept anything worth wearing . canvas, cotton, jeans! Souls have bad taste, Luc, don't get one." He selected at length a pair of black trousers and pulled them on. "Lindsey . shall we see how we feel when the time comes? Now, why don't you make an appointment, say you're bringing a friend?" Angelus undid the top button of his shirt. "Well?"  
  
"Have we got time for shopping first?" Luc asked. "You . you are leather and velvet and silk, not this harsh stuff here."  
  
Angelus smiled slowly. "And you, mon garçon, are a beautiful flatterer. Yes, we have time if," he sat down on the edge of the bed, "if you get up now."  
  
The appointment at Wolfram and Hart set for nine, they left the hotel just before eight, as the sun touched the horizon and went under. Angelus drove them to a street full of small, expensive shops, and they wandered along until they found one which sold everything they wanted - shirts, suits, trousers, in luxurious fabrics. As he pushed open the door and the bell tinkled cheerfully, Angelus glanced at Luc, a sparkle in his eye. "You know what to do, Luc."  
  
Half an hour later they emerged carrying bags of clothes; Angelus had changed into a pair of blue-black velvet trousers. They were halfway to Wolfram and Hart before anyone noticed the bodies of the two shop assistants, one by the counter and one in the changing rooms.  
  
The giant law firm was, as usual, busy; and, as usual, a pair of burly security guards accompanied Luc and Angelus to Lindsey McDonald's office, leaving them at the door.  
  
Inside the room was again dark and gloomy, the shades over the window and the view closed. Lindsey McDonald was sitting in a pool of light cast by his desk lamp, and as Luc entered he stood, putting down a pen.  
  
"Monsieur Tarpeau. Good ." He broke off, eyes narrowing as Angelus closed the door behind him.  
  
"Hello, Lindsey," Angelus said. "Surprised?"  
  
There was a rustle of movement, the swish of a dress, in the corner, and slowly Darla appeared, the light catching on her hair. "Angelus?"  
  
"The one and only, love," Angelus said, smiling at her. She looked up at him, and raised a hand to run it down his cheek.  
  
"Have you come to rescue me?" she asked.  
  
"To set you free," Angelus returned. "To ask your forgiveness for killing you."  
  
Lindsey McDonald had gone pale in the artificial light, and now he moved a step.  
  
"Luc," said Angelus, "the phone."  
  
Luc nodded and crossed to the wall before McDonald could lift the receiver, pulling out the phone cable and snapping the plug from the end.  
  
"No security," Angelus said. "Nobody to escort me out this time, Lindsey."  
  
"What did you do?" the lawyer said, to Luc. "What the hell did you do?"  
  
"Some research," Luc answered, dropping the broken cable. "Some magic. You were scared before, of that thing with a soul. Now . pack your baggage and run."  
  
"Luc has it right, Lindsey," Angelus added. "We're going to wake up LA. If you want to watch, don't get in my way." He turned to Darla. "Ready, love?"  
  
She smiled up at him. "Oh yes."  
  
"Then say goodbye to Lindsey. Perhaps you could eat him later on."  
  
"Darla, you don't have to make this choice," Lindsey McDonald said. "It's a choice, you said you have to be willing. For God's sake say no. We can protect you."  
  
"From him? From my boy?" Darla said, dreamily. "Oh no, Lindsey. No, you can't. My choice is to be with him. You were sweet; but Angelus ." she took his hand in her small one, "Angelus knows me better than anyone, and I know him better than anyone. I made him. Now he can return the gift."  
  
"We'll come and visit," Angelus said, "count on it. Luc? My love?"  
  
"On y va!" Luc said happily.  
  
Angelus bent and picked Darla up, and she put her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. "Bye, Lindsey," he said.  
  
"Goodbye, Lindsey," Darla murmured.  
  
They took the lift down to the lobby, and reached the front doors even as Lindsey McDonald, flushed and out of breath, arrived at the bottom of the stairs shouting, "Stop them!" at the top of his voice. A security guard tried to block them off at the door, but Luc, with a nod from Angelus, threw him aside. In the car, Angelus drove away at top speed, and they had soon left the crowds of Wolfram and Hart behind.  
  
"Where are we going, love?" Darla asked, her hair blowing back in the wind.  
  
"The hotel," Angelus said, putting his arm along the back of her seat. "Tomorrow night, you'll wake up again."  
  
They smiled at each other, and Luc, in the back, smiled too. Closing his eyes, he thought about the nights to come, the slaughter there would be, and the prospect of being a family, together again. The euphoric mood of the trio lasted until they were at the door of the hotel, Darla again cradled in Angelus' arms. Luc glanced sideways, and paused.  
  
"Sire?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't own a motorbike, do you?"  
  
Angelus turned and looked. "Wesley's. Damn idiot of a Watcher. All right, I'll handle this. Neither of you say anything."  
  
In the lobby, the slim, dark-haired young man Luc had glimpsed briefly on his first visit to the hotel was pacing, his brow creased with worry. As they entered, he turned and a wave of relief flashed across his face.  
  
"Angel. Thank God. And ."  
  
"Darla," Angelus said, laying her down on the sofa. "I've been having dreams about her. I never told you, I didn't want to worry you. But she's what Wolfram and Hart brought back."  
  
"In that box," the other finished. "Aha. Well, that certainly solves a number of riddles - and opens up a few more." He pushed his glasses further onto his nose, and looked towards Luc. "And ."  
  
"Luc."  
  
"But you said he'd be leaving town," the Englishman said accusingly, letting his hand rest on the counter close to a crossbow. "Well?"  
  
"I couldn't go through with staking another of mine," Angelus said, putting on an appropriately guilty expression. "He's promised to behave in return for being allowed to stay, for a week."  
  
The Englishman frowned, and then waved the matter of Luc aside. "Is Cordelia here?"  
  
"Cordy? No," Angelus replied. "She got a call from her father. Family illness. Had to leave straight away."  
  
"But Cordelia hates her family," Wesley pointed out.  
  
"She said she thought she needed to start helping her own as well as everyone else," Angelus improvised smoothly. "She's going to call if she gets a vision."  
  
Luc, sitting opposite Darla, remembered with a suppressed smile the two of them sliding Cordelia's body into the basement furnace.  
  
"Hmph," said Wesley. "So there are no jobs?"  
  
"Nothing at the moment. Have a break, Wes," Angelus said. "Let me look after Darla. Tell Gunn the same, will you?"  
  
The Englishman nodded, but he was frowning too. "It's all very odd," he said, picking up a bag and a motorcycle helmet. "Very odd. Call me if anything needs doing." He paused by the door. "Why the velvet trousers, Angel?"  
  
"For Darla," Angelus said. "Go. Enjoy yourself. You don't know how long it's going to last."  
  
Wesley frowned again, but left, casting a final suspicious glance at Luc before the door closed behind him.  
  
"Watchers," said Angelus, scornfully. "We go after him tomorrow. Now . Darla, love, are you ready?"  
  
She smiled in answer, and stood up to wrap her arms around his neck again. "Always," she said.  
  
"Luc, you'll have to choose another room to sleep in tonight," Angelus told him curtly. "Come to mine at sunset tomorrow."  
  
"Oui - d'accord," Luc said. "A demain. I'm going to go for a walk now. Darla. Sire." He bowed briefly in their direction and watched as Angelus led Darla slowly up the stairs, and then turned and made his way back out into the night. 


	16. Watching and Waiting

Disclaimer etc.: see prologue  
  
The Breton: chapter 15 - Watching and Waiting  
  
Luc picked out a black ribbon from a box and, after a moment's thought, pulled his hair back and tied it, checking by running a hand over his head that the sides were smooth. It had been a long while since he had worn it like this, in the old-fashioned way. Somehow, the prospect of spending time with Darla and Angelus again had prompted a wave of memories and nostalgia in him, and Luc had chosen a long coat and a silk shirt for the evening ahead. Now, he checked his hair again and made sure he had a handkerchief and a few dollars safe in his pockets before he left the bedroom he had slept in - one of the few clean ones in the hotel, it seemed.  
  
Tapping on Angelus' door and entering, he found that Darla was laid out on the bed in a long, deep red gown, her eyes closed. Angelus turned from opening the curtains.  
  
"She should wake soon." He paused, and looked again at Luc. "You look good."  
  
"For the occasion," Luc said. "I thought it merited an effort."  
  
"I like it."  
  
They sat down on chairs by the bed and waited in silence. The combination of moonlight and the orange glow from the windows cast a strange glimmer on Darla's peaceful face, and Luc thought that he had seldom seen anything so beautiful. He passed the time by alternating his gaze between Darla and his sire. The latter was leaning back in his chair, resting his chin on his hands and watching Darla with intense dark eyes.  
  
And so they waited, patiently.  
  
An hour passed, and finally there came a flicker of movement from the bed. Darla's eyelids fluttered, once, twice, three times, and then her eyes opened. Angelus was on his knees by her side, holding her hand, as she sat up trying to take breaths.  
  
"Shhh . Darla?"  
  
Her features changed, human to demon and back again, and then she looked straight at Angelus. "What happened? Where am I?"  
  
"With me, love."  
  
She focused on Angelus' face. "But you killed me ." Her eyes narrowed. "You killed me. For that Slayer."  
  
"That wasn't me," Angelus said, with controlled anger.  
  
Darla looked like she was about to hit him, or worse, but then her posture relaxed, and Luc watching realised her memories had returned. Slowly she smiled, and not letting go of Angelus' hand, caressed his face. "No, it wasn't, was it? Thank you, love."  
  
"How do you feel?" he asked.  
  
"Ravenous," Darla returned with a wide smile. "Let's go hunting, shall we? Luc?"  
  
"Let's go hunting," he agreed.  
  
Angelus expounded his plan for Wesley Wyndham-Pryce as they left the hotel, Darla with her arms linked to both of them. To Luc, it sounded perfect, and Darla agreed to it on the condition that she "found someone first for an appetiser." Accordingly, Luc and Angelus stood by as she enticed a woman hurrying home from work into a dark corner and swiftly drained her, emerging flushed with sparkling eyes.  
  
They turned off the main boulevard a short while after that, and Angelus pulled out his mobile phone.  
  
"Hello? Wesley, it's Angel." He grimaced as he spoke. "Yeah, message from Cordy. She had a vision . hold on. It's an alleyway off 5th. I'm on my way now - join me there. I've called Gunn. Shouldn't be tricky, only a few vamps attacking someone, apparently. Hurry up." He ended the call and slipped the phone into his jacket, smiling broadly. "Now, we wait."  
  
It was fifteen minutes before they heard the roaring of a motorbike engine, and another few before the sound spluttered and died at the end of the alley. Then, there was the sound of running feet wearing boots, and silhouetted against the light from the street, the slight figure of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce came into view. Luc slipped down the alley and waited at the open end from which the Englishman had come, unnoticed by the newcomer.  
  
Wesley skidded to a halt in front of Angelus, who was standing with his hands in his pockets.  
  
"Did you get them? Where's the person being attacked?"  
  
"Standing right in front of me," Angelus said, a smile flickering on his lips.  
  
Wesley started to look around, and then caught himself and turned back to Angelus. From his standpoint at the end of the alley, Luc noted the change in posture from frantic to defensive, and caught a strand of terror on the air.  
  
"What happened?" the Englishman asked, slowly. Luc took a few steps back towards the group. "Was it Darla?"  
  
"Luc," Angelus replied easily. He gestured to Darla and she caught Wesley's arm, rising slowly with a crossbow, and twisted. The Englishman cried out and the crossbow clattered harmlessly to the ground. "He cast a spell. Very efficiently."  
  
"Then Cordelia ." gasped Wesley.  
  
"Is dead. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, aren't those the words? She caught on a lot quicker than you, Wes."  
  
"Gunn?" Wesley asked, cradling his injured arm and eyeing Darla out of the corner of his eye. Luc took another few paces closer, and stood still again about ten feet from him.  
  
Angelus frowned. "I still haven't decided what to do with him. I think he'd make a marvellous vampire. You - no. I remember once a Watcher turned vamp named Dalton . little guy with glasses." He poked Wesley's. "Most useless piece of rubbish ever. Spike said he got zapped by the Judge, right before my last visit to Sunnydale. I don't want a Dalton on my hands."  
  
Wesley took a step back, and then another, and then he turned and began to run. Luc had been waiting for this, and caught the Watcher easily, trapping him in a neck hold and bringing him back to Angelus.  
  
"I knew you'd run," Angelus said. "I knew that bravery was a façade. You're still the same old wet Wesley, aren't you, inside, where it counts?"  
  
"I'm not a fool," the Englishman said, gritting his teeth. Luc could feel him struggling to breathe. "Why wait here for death?"  
  
"But you are a fool," Angelus said. "In so many ways . hell, I'm not going to list them here. Humanity is foolish. I'm glad to be rid of it. I'm not going to miss that. And I'm not going to miss you. You and Cordelia are just the first - next there'll be Gunn, and Kate Lockley; Caritas and Sunnydale; perhaps London and the Watchers' Council after that. This time I'm here to stay."  
  
Wesley glared at Angelus. "Then if you see my father, tell him I'm sorry."  
  
"I will."  
  
Angelus nodded at Luc and Darla, and Luc, with the scent of terror driving him on and lending an edge to his appetite, bared his fangs and bit.  
  
Five minutes later three figures emerged from the alleyway and walked briskly off along the sidewalk, leaving behind them a motorbike with its lights still on, and a slumped, motionless form lying in the darkness. 


	17. Identification

Disclaimer etc.: see prologue.  
  
The Breton: chapter 16 - Identification  
  
It was noon. Luc, having found himself unable to sleep and unable to leave the building save by the sewers, which did not particularly attract him, had chosen a book at random from the shelves in one of the offices off the lobby, and was sitting peaceably reading it on the sofa. When he had walked past Angelus' room on the way downstairs, there had been the soft murmur of voices and laughter from inside, and Luc guessed that his sire and grandsire had chosen not to sleep either. He smiled down at his book and wondered what the plans for the evening were. He rather thought that his sire would decide to target the handsome young black man called Gunn. The slow hunt was tantalising: Luc found himself marvelling at the way Angelus was gradually rediscovering his old skills, expanding on them and playing with his victims in the same old glorious way.  
  
He concentrated on the book again - it was an old novel that had been at some point tucked amongst the demonology books, but was proving interesting enough. There was no other sound in the hotel except the creaking and rattling of ancient pipes, and Luc shifted on the sofa to make himself more comfortable.  
  
The noise of the door being kicked open made him sit up, startled, and putting his book down Luc peered around the corner of the counter. In the centre of the lobby stood an athletic blonde woman, her hair loose, holding a gun with one hand and a cross sharpened at one end in the other. Luc raised his eyebrows, and coughed before standing up and appearing in front of her.  
  
Instantly the gun was swung around and aimed between his head and his chest, unwavering. Luc put his hands up. "Can I help?" he asked.  
  
The woman, who was giving off a tangible fear scent, narrowed her eyes. "Who're you?"  
  
"I'm a friend of Angel's," Luc said, using his sire's detested shortened name. "Who are you?"  
  
"Detective Kate Lockley, LAPD," the woman shot back. "Investigating the murder of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Know him?"  
  
"The name rings a bell," Luc said, tasting still the Watcher's blood.  
  
"Hmm. Where's Angel?"  
  
"Asleep," returned Luc. "Would you like me to wake him?"  
  
Kate Lockley frowned. "All right. Five minutes or I come up after you."  
  
Luc took the stairs two at a time, and knocked on Angelus' door. There was a murmur, and then his sire called out, "what is it?"  
  
"It's Luc," Luc said. "There's a policewoman to see you."  
  
The door opened. "Lockley?" Angelus asked, grinning.  
  
"A blonde woman," Luc agreed.  
  
When they came back down the stairs, the detective was perched on the edge of Cordelia Chase's desk, sifting through the papers on it.  
  
"Kate," Angelus greeted her. "What can I do for you?"  
  
She pulled an envelope out of her pocket and passed it to him. "Where were you last night?"  
  
He shot her a sharp glance and took the photographs out of the envelope. Luc, peering over his shoulder, saw a collection of harshly-lit black and white images of a pale corpse.  
  
"Where were you, Angel?" Kate Lockley demanded. "They're treating it as a common mugging. You and I know better."  
  
Angelus stitched an expression of grief on to his face. "I can't believe you're asking me this, Kate. Wesley was a friend."  
  
"So you confirm the body's that of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?"  
  
"It appears so, yes. But it's a death he will have been expecting for many years. I'm just sorry I wasn't there to help him at the end."  
  
Kate took back the photographs. "And your friend, Angel. Who's he?" She stared at Luc with narrowed eyes. "European?"  
  
"French," Luc said, leaning against the counter. Lockley pulled out her cross-shaped stake and holding it in front of her, walked deliberately towards Luc. Luc, remembering this lesson from years before, stared through the cross and let her approach, at the last moment batting it aside gently with the sleeve of his shirt hanging down over his wrist.  
  
"Hmm," said Kate.  
  
"This city's rife with vampires," Angelus said. "You can be sure I'll hunt down those that did this to Wesley."  
  
"You better had," Kate Lockley said. "Where's Cordelia? I need someone for the identification."  
  
"Why not me?" Angelus asked.  
  
"Someone not dead," the detective snapped back. Luc looked at his shoes to conceal his amusement, but he caught a suppressed flash of anger in his sire's features.  
  
"Cordy's away with family," said Angelus. "I have another contact, someone who's done some work for me. Would he do?"  
  
"I guess." Kate Lockley looked tired now, some of her fight gone out of her. "Tell him to meet us at the morgue, all right? I'll give you a lift, be quicker than the sewers."  
  
"I think I'll stay here, finish my book," Luc said to Angelus. "All right?"  
  
"See you there," Angelus said into the telephone, and put it down. "Of course. You know where everything is." He leant around Luc to pick up his coat, and murmured, "Je te donne Darla pour l'après-midi. Amuse-toi bien.*"  
  
The policeman and the vampire left by the basement door, and Luc, after glancing at his book for another moment, headed upstairs.  
  
Darla was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. As Luc entered and closed the door behind him, she turned her head.  
  
"Hello, Luc. Where's Angelus gone?"  
  
"To identify the Englishman," Luc said, grinning. "With a blonde detective who is terrified of him - and she thinks she's dealing with the soul. And I think he's going to bring us back a gift too." He explained about Angelus' telephone call to Charles Gunn. Darla smiled languidly.  
  
"Good. I'd forgotten how long the days were."  
  
"They don't have to be." Luc kicked off his shoes and came to lie on his side next to her in the bed. "Tell me where you went, after Romania, when you told me not to write anymore."  
  
Darla's eyes widened. "Did I? I don't remember . I was so angry, with everything, everyone. We slaughtered all the gypsies, then I suppose we came home and killed everyone en route. And it should have been such fun, but it wasn't. I missed him. I didn't think I would ."  
  
"Spike said he came back, to China," Luc said.  
  
"You saw Spike?" Darla asked, propping herself up on one elbow. "When?"  
  
Luc laughed. "Seventy years ago. In Chicago. We made up. And Dru."  
  
"Oh." Darla let herself fall flat again. "I'd heard they were in California. Lindsey said something, once. I thought we could get them, be a proper family again, the five of us. When you were in London, it was all too short. Imagine what we could do."  
  
"Then we should find them!" Luc said. "And spread blood from here to Washington . paint the sidewalks . cause such chaos ."  
  
Darla looked at him, and smiled again showing her perfect teeth. "Oh, the French - so poetic. I missed you too, Luc."  
  
For answer, Luc bent over and nipped Darla's neck with his blunt, human teeth, slipping the silken strap of her nightdress from her shoulder. "Let's make the afternoon shorter," he murmured, as she turned her face and body towards him.  
  
* "I give you Darla for the afternoon. Have a good time." 


	18. Coercion

Disclaimer etc.: see prologue  
  
The Breton: chapter 17 - Coercion  
  
The voices drifted upstairs, and Luc awoke to find the other side of the bed empty.  
  
"It's not even like I really liked the guy. He annoyed me somethin' awful."  
  
"Angelus is back," Darla said, standing by the window looking out.  
  
Luc sat up, and ran a hand through his hair. "He's brought that boy."  
  
"And we're going to have fun," Darla said, turning around. "Shall we go down?"  
  
Throwing back the covers, Luc stood up. "Perhaps I'd better dress," he said, meeting Darla's eyes.  
  
"Mmmm," she returned. "Well, you could ."  
  
"I'll get dressed," Luc said.  
  
They wandered downstairs together five minutes later. The murmur of voices still continued, and as they came into the lobby, Angelus' companion wondered aloud, "but what about his family?"  
  
"What about them?" Angelus said. He sounded bored.  
  
"Did Wesley have any family?" the young man with him repeated. "'Cos if so, shouldn't we tell them . that he's dead?"  
  
"I don't think he was on good terms with his family," Angelus said, looking up. "Ah." He slipped into French. "Did you have a good afternoon?"  
  
"Wonderful, thank you," Luc returned with a smile. "And you?"  
  
"Oh, tiresome as could be," Angelus said. "I'm hoping we can liven it up a bit now. The question is, do we turn him?"  
  
Charles Gunn had turned to face Luc and Darla.  
  
"Who's the lady, man?" he asked, grinning widely.  
  
"She's Darla," Angelus said sharply. Gunn raised his hands.  
  
"Are you . and her . like, an item?"  
  
"We were once," Angelus replied, obviously making an effort still to play the ensouled Angel after his momentary slip. "Now she's asked me for help."  
  
The young man shrugged. "Your call. But I am sure I've seen him before," gesturing at Luc. "He's that vamp who you went off to stake the other night. What happened?"  
  
Angelus smiled, slowly. "He trapped me. Played a trick on me. Used all the skills I'd once taught him. He bespelled me. Took my soul away."  
  
"He did what?" Charles Gunn said, already backing away. "No . wait . I don't want to hear this. I really want to be runnin', now, don't I?"  
  
"You could try," said Angelus. "I always like a good chase. But I've a proposition for you, Gunn."  
  
Gunn, by the door now, paused. "And what would that be? Nice cosy grave next to Wes? I've seen your like before, and I ain't never forgotten it. I never trusted you, never bought the friendly vamp routine. You're never gonna surprise me."  
  
Darla, who had sat down on the sofa in the centre of the lobby to watch proceedings, shook her head. "You've never seen his like before, boy. There's never been his like before. When I chose him, I chose well. I'd waited and waited, and searched Europe and America, I'd killed hundreds of handsome young men and pretty girls, looking for someone to make me proud. And finally I found him." She exchanged smiles with Angelus. "And, apart from that century when he had that nasty soul, I am proud."  
  
"En plus," Luc added, "Darla's reputation is also something extraordinary. You're in the presence of legend, monsieur."  
  
Charles Gunn shrugged. "Yeah? Well, let me tell you somethin'. All I see is three of your standard vampires. Never met one yet who ain't conceited as hell. Now, you gonna kill me or bore me to death?"  
  
"Actually," Angelus said, "I wondered about giving you the chance for immortality. You have many of the qualities one looks for - sure of yourself, courageous, prior knowledge of what could kill you ."  
  
"Tall and good-looking also," Darla put in. "After all, who'd want to preserve ugliness forever?"  
  
"You want to turn me?" Gunn said, incredulous. "And you want me to agree? You're crazier than I thought. No way, man."  
  
Shaking his head, he pushed open the door at his back still facing them, and then turned and ran, disappearing with the thud of his boots on the sidewalk. Moments later, they heard the growl of an engine turning over.  
  
"Are we chasing him?" Luc asked, hesitantly, wondering what his sire was thinking. Angelus glanced at him.  
  
"No. I punctured his tyres." Angelus held up a small, thin dagger with a carved hilt. "He'll be back, in a moment, raging."  
  
"All that anger ." murmured Darla.  
  
"Bubbling inside him," Luc agreed. For a moment, he felt like dancing in the elation of the moment. "Can I go and fetch him, sire?"  
  
Angelus nodded, indulgently, running his finger along the blade of his dagger. "If you must. Still such a youngster, Luc. I'd mistake you for a fledgling sometimes."  
  
"Only in the right company," Luc said, and went out in search of the van.  
  
Charles Gunn was bent over a wheel, examining it with a torch held in his teeth.  
  
"Problem?" Luc said. The young man jumped, and turned, whipping a stake out from somewhere. Luc, impressed with the agility of the other, held up his hands appeasingly. "I came to see how you were doing with your getaway."  
  
"No, you came to bring me in," Gunn said flatly. "I ain't no fool, vamp."  
  
"Call me Luc, please," returned Luc, eyeing the stake. He lowered his voice. "If I were you, I'd come now. This way, you play into his hands. He enjoys la chasse. We all do. It's the feeling of power, the smell of the fear as you get close - you must know of it. Now imagine that, and multiply each sensation."  
  
Charles Gunn bent, and continued to run his fingers around the wheel, but distractedly now. Luc carried on.  
  
"The night before I was turned, I was terrified. Mort de peur. I was working for him, you know, when I was still human."  
  
"And you knew what he was?" Gunn asked, straightening up. "Puncture."  
  
"Dagger," agreed Luc. "Oui. He gave me no choice - work for him or die, and die anyway at some point. Yet I betrayed him, confessed to a priest, and he caught me."  
  
Luc rather thought he had Charles Gunn fascinated. "Bad news, huh," the young man said.  
  
"Whilst I was still alive, yes. Very bad. But it ended well, better even than I had ever hoped." Luc smiled at Gunn. "So you see. You have my choice, without the night of torture ahead, or so I believe. I could be wrong. If you walk away now, I know there will be pain."  
  
"And you'd enjoy that too, wouldn't you?" Gunn said. "I've had this offer before, and I didn't accept it then. I ain't gonna accept it now."  
  
"Then run," Luc said, "as fast as you possibly can. Set up all your traps, gather around all your people, and prepare to watch them die. We'll enjoy that best. Then it'll be your turn, and it'll be a night that may drive you crazy. Then you can spend eternity as a madman." He turned away, and threw over his shoulder as a parting shot, "or, you could come now, and be one of the best."  
  
Behind him, as he walked back into the hotel, Luc heard a muffled curse and the clatter of a wooden object hitting the ground.  
  
"Well?" demanded Angelus, now seated close to Darla.  
  
"I give him three minutes to come inside," Luc said, feeling pleased with himself.  
  
"I hope he does," Angelus said, an edge to his voice. Luc sat down, trying to be casual about it, and hoping fervently that Charles Gunn would walk through the door. A minute passed; then two. Then the door opened.  
  
"I do this," Gunn said, stopping at the top of the steps, "you promise not to hurt my crew. You get me."  
  
Angelus stood up fluidly, and smiled one of his crooked smiles. "All right."  
  
"All of you," Gunn said, looking hard at Luc and Darla. Angelus glanced over his shoulder and nodded.  
  
"If I must," Darla shrugged.  
  
"Promis," Luc added.  
  
Gunn took a deep breath, and crossed the lobby. "This had better be worth it," he said.  
  
Angelus let his features change, and, fangs hovering above the young man's jugular, said, "oh, it will be," and bit. 


	19. Rebirth

Disclaimer etc.: see prologue  
  
The Breton: chapter 18 - Rebirth  
  
"You know what I said about my crew?" Gunn said, staring in fascination at the empty mirror. "Forget that. I release you from your promises. Let's go."  
  
Angelus put an arm around Gunn's shoulders. "I knew you'd say that. They live there, don't they?"  
  
"Dammit, yeah."  
  
"That's all right," Angelus said, calmly. "We'll think of something. We've done that before."  
  
"Half the fun," said Darla, examining her nails.  
  
"Remember that time in London?" Luc asked.  
  
Gunn looked from Darla to Luc to Angelus. "You were right. I am goin' to enjoy this, aren't I?"  
  
Luc stood up, straightening his collar. "Lesson number one, mon frère," he said. "He," gesturing at Angelus, "is always right."  
  
Darla linked arms with Angelus, and exchanged smiles with him. "Except when I am," she said. "Anyone hungry?"  
  
"Hell yeah," Gunn said. "Ain't never been this hungry." For a second, his eyes glinted yellow. "Will this come naturally, kind of?"  
  
"Just let it take over," Angelus said, leading the way out of the room. "Don't think. Act."  
  
Luc watched Gunn all the way to his old place, fascinated by the new vampire's reactions to being outdoors for the first time. He had seen Darla awaken, but Darla had centuries of experience and seemed to have known what to expect. Gunn, thought Luc, watching him tip his head back and gaze up at the sky, was much the same age as he himself had been over a century and a half before.  
  
Gunn turned to meet Luc's gaze and grinned widely. "This is great."  
  
"Didn't I say?" Luc said.  
  
"Luc," put in Angelus from the driver's seat, "is a walking advertisement for vampirism. He'd recommend it to anyone."  
  
"Not anyone," Luc demurred. "For instance, I've never found someone to turn, not yet." He returned Gunn's grin. "Mais oui, I would recommend it to almost anyone."  
  
"So Alanna was right, then," Gunn said. "I could've had a year of this already."  
  
Angelus shook his head. "Not quite. Your sister was a day old. Fledglings that age can't turn anyone successfully. You've a good start in death now. You did your sister a good turn by staking her, anyway," he added. "That nest was full of idiots too."  
  
"Lesson two," said Luc, "most other vampires are pretty stupid. We are not."  
  
"Correction," said Angelus, "you and I and Darla are not. I wish I could say the same for the rest of this family."  
  
"Spike, and Drusilla," Luc explained to Gunn. "Spike isn't always stupid," he said to Angelus. "You know, he stayed with me in Chicago, in the thirties. We had a good time." He turned back to Gunn. "And Drusilla . une belle fille, but crazy."  
  
"Irritating," said Darla.  
  
"And ." Luc began, but stopped himself as Angelus swung the car into a rough parking lot outside a low building from which no light came. The engine off, he turned to Gunn.  
  
"It's good you moved. I've never been here before. You knock, when questioned tell them we're here, get an invitation."  
  
Gunn nodded. "I can't get in without one?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay." Gunn squared his shoulders and, with Luc and Darla watching from the car, knocked. After a moment, a square panel in the door was pushed back, and the point of a wooden arrow poked out. "It's me," Gunn said. "I need an invitation for Angel here. He's cool." The person pointing the arrow said something, and Gunn spread his hands. "'Cos I'm out here and you're in there? You've seen the guy before, Joe. C'mon."  
  
After a moment, the door swung open, and Luc just caught a "Come in," from Joe inside.  
  
"That's our cue," said Darla, and together she and Luc crossed to the door.  
  
"Invite them in," Angelus was saying, holding a lanky boy by the neck.  
  
Gunn was watching. "You always were a fool, Joe. Do the thing properly now you've started."  
  
Joe, pale-faced with fear and struggling for breath, nodded, and Angelus released him enough for him to stammer out an invitation. Then his neck was broken, swiftly and efficiently. Luc stood back to allow Darla in first, and followed, closing the door behind. Angelus picked up the fallen crossbow and snapped it as easily as he had snapped Joe's neck, and threw it down next to the corpse. "Now, Gunn. Go and find your best friend, your closest lieutenant. Kill them first."  
  
"Bon appetit," Luc added.  
  
An hour later, the four of them stood back and surveyed their handiwork with pleasure. Gunn licked his lips and slowly, his features changed back to human.  
  
Wiping his hands with a black silk handkerchief, Angelus nodded. "Good. Very good. Well?"  
  
"I've been fightin' on the wrong side for four years," Gunn said, shaking his head. "What's next?"  
  
Darla turned on her heel and began to lead the way out. "You shouldn't eat anyone else this evening, Charles. Too much the first night isn't good. Tomorrow, you can do whatever you like."  
  
"On the other hand," Angelus said, following her and throwing the words over his shoulder, "I rather fancy a small digestif. Darla, love?"  
  
She smiled. "I quite agree."  
  
Luc turned to Gunn. "It's hours till dawn. Blood may be forbidden, but would you like a beer?" They came out of Gunn's former home. "Sire, we'll follow on foot. I'll make sure we're back by sunrise."  
  
"Make sure you are," Angelus warned.  
  
The convertible roared off, Darla's blonde hair blowing in the wind, and Luc raised a hand after it.  
  
A few minutes' walk away, they found a diner that was quiet, and chose a corner booth, sliding in one either side of the table. A fading waitress with too much cleavage showing came over, took their orders, and returned quickly with two bottles of beer. Gunn drank, and then looked Luc in the eye.  
  
"So what is your story?" he asked. "We never heard nothin' about you before you turned up in the hotel the other week."  
  
"I was looking for excitement," Luc said, drawing patterns in the moisture on the side of his beer bottle, and remembering leaving the small farmhouse overlooking the Atlantic, many years before, with his head full of ambition. "I had no future. So I went to Paris - the lights of the big city, you know? I did odd jobs here and there, cleaned, swept, mended, and so on . then I saw an advertisement in a paper." He closed his eyes. "'Valet required for single gentleman.' And it gave the address. So I wrote and was given an appointment, and went along one sunny day. Big house, courtyard, all yellow sandstone, you know? And I went up the stairs and into a dark, dark study. I could barely see anything."  
  
"Human eyesight. Sucks," said Gunn. Luc nodded his agreement.  
  
"Et comment. And I could just see someone behind the desk. He asked me questions, the usual ones, why I wanted the job. Then he switched on the light."  
  
"And?" asked Gunn.  
  
Luc considered. "I was charmed, I suppose. He treated me like a person. All I'd had till then was insults and little to eat, and I was starting to think of going back to Morbihan. I was disillusioned. And suddenly there was this . man, as I thought, in velvet and silk, offering me a job." He drank. "Oh, and then he asked me to take off my crucifix. And that was that. I got the job. I worked, he killed, threw parties, killed at the parties . I suppose I was terrified. One day, I took refuge in a church, and confessed, but the priest knew about him, and wrote a letter, to the Council of Watchers."  
  
"Wesley's gang?" Gunn questioned. "He told me about them. English stuffed shirts."  
  
"Maybe now, but back then they were better," Luc said. "My downfall came weeks later, when I met the priest outside the church one evening."  
  
"Let me guess," Gunn said. "Someone was out for a stroll?"  
  
"And Darla. She was staying with him then. Back to the house, excruciating pain, I woke up the next night."  
  
"The priest?"  
  
"He died," Luc shrugged. "Stupid old man, really. So full of human compassion, it was sickening."  
  
"Now see," Gunn said, "I don't get that, not yet."  
  
"You're still too close," Luc replied. "It was only yesterday you were human. Give it a little time. But think of this evening, and the pleasure you got from that, and let that side of you take over." He picked up his beer and drank. "Though I'm not the best person to be telling you about this, pas vraiment. Ask Angelus. And believe me, you are off to the best start, the best. Anyone would tell you that."  
  
Gunn nodded. "There ain't many vamps like him, I see that. Hell, even with that soul everyone was scared of him. And this evenin' ."  
  
"Magnifique, je sais," Luc agreed.  
  
"I have a feeling," Gunn said, "that I'm goin' to enjoy this."  
  
"I know you're going to love it," Luc said. "Santé."  
  
They clinked bottles and grinned at each other. 


	20. Crime and Punishment

Disclaimer etc.: see prologue  
  
The Breton: chapter 19 - Crime and Punishment  
  
Kate Lockley threw down the photographs, and stood back with her hands on her hips.  
  
"I've seen that mark before, and you know I have," she said. "But I killed Penn, didn't I?"  
  
Angelus spread the photographs out on the counter, and Luc peered down at them, and the livid mark shown.  
  
"You killed Penn," Angelus agreed.  
  
"So?" the detective demanded.  
  
"So, Penn's still dusted," said Angelus. He glanced round the circle: Darla looking disinterested, Gunn trying to hide a grin. Luc met his eyes. "What do you want me to say, Kate?"  
  
"Any more estranged children in town?" she demanded.  
  
"None whatsoever," said Angelus. "Come on, Katie, you're supposed to be a policewoman. Work it out." He nodded at Luc. "Doors. Gunn, staircase. Darla, the other doors."  
  
Kate Lockley deliberately unbuttoned the top of her blouse and flicked out a large silver crucifix. "Have you been playing me all this time?" she asked, her voice cold.  
  
"Only a few days," Angelus said lightly. "You were nearly there, so nearly there. You almost guessed Luc, but he fobbed you off with the oldest trick in the book." He took three quick paces forwards, and pulled off Kate Lockley's necklace. She muffled a gasp of pain as the metal tore at her skin. Angelus threw the cross on the ground. "And I did kill Wes, poor old Wes. No fight left in him at the end. You remember Cordelia, Detective? She was the first of the lot of them, and had more guts than most. Gunn here - have I introduced you? Charles Gunn, Detective Kate Lockley - Gunn's just joined our happy little family, and when we went to visit his friends, I couldn't resist demonstrating some old techniques."  
  
"Stay away from me," the detective said, groping for a stake in her waistband.  
  
Angelus, smiling, leant towards her, and murmured, "No."  
  
Kate Lockley struggled even harder than had Cordelia Chase, Luc thought as he pulled the rope tight around her legs, and then tugged on it for good measure. The detective let out a satisfying scream, swiftly muffled as Gunn ripped a piece of duct tape and stuck it across her mouth.  
  
They laid her on the sofa and stood around her, looking down.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Luc asked.  
  
"I don't know if I can be bothered to do anything," Angelus said. "You can have her, if you want her, Luc." He bent down closer to Kate. "Darla and I can find better pickings elsewhere. Come on, love."  
  
Darla took his arm, and they left.  
  
"Think I'll go catch a bite somewhere," Gunn said laconically. "Have fun."  
  
"Thank you, I will," Luc said. He stood still for a moment, and then picked the detective up and carried her up the stairs.  
  
Once in the room that had become his, Luc put Kate Lockley down and unstuck the gag from her mouth. She screamed, and he waited it out.  
  
"There's nobody to hear, and I could listen to that noise all night," he pointed out, as she paused for breath.  
  
"Bastard," she said, vehemently. "Monster."  
  
"Mais non," Luc said, "I'm not a monster. I'm a vampire. There's a whole world of difference, tu sais. If I were a monster, you'd be dead by now." He examined her carefully, critically. "You're a very beautiful woman, Mademoiselle."  
  
"Cut the crap and kill me," Kate Lockley spat, her eyes flashing.  
  
"Where would be the art in that?" asked Luc. "Or the fun? I could go up to anyone in the street and just kill them. You're worth more than that."  
  
"I'm flattered, really," the detective said. "Did you learn this talk from him?"  
  
"Angelus?" Luc said. "Non. A century and a half on the planet, you learn to recognise beauty when you see it. Whether that beauty be wonderful eyes, or the intricacies of a human body. It's true," he sat down on the edge of the bed, "that in some respects, he taught me to appreciate them in a different way, but I have drawn many conclusions by myself." He ran a hand through Kate's hair, and she flinched away. "The softness of your hair is beautiful, but so is the softness of your skin." Luc let his features slip and bent to graze the side of her neck with his fangs. "You see?"  
  
She whimpered a little, and Luc frowned, disappointed.  
  
"Where's the fight gone?"  
  
"I should never have trusted him," Kate Lockley said, her voice low. "I should never have bloody trusted him."  
  
"Trop tard," Luc said, shrugging off his suede jacket and throwing it accurately on to a nearby chair. "Regrets, though, always come after the event, or they wouldn't be regrets." He rolled up his sleeves, and smiled at Kate. "Relax, now, ma belle, or struggle, it won't make a difference, and you won't regret either, because you won't be here to regret it." He lifted her hand, turning it, and bit gently into the wrist.  
  
* * *  
  
Luc was lying contentedly on his bed, thoughtfully licking semi-congealed blood from his fingers, when Angelus came in. He glanced up and grinned.  
  
"Good hunting?"  
  
"So-so," Angelus said. "Perhaps I should have stayed after all."  
  
"She gave up far too soon," Luc said, throwing a look at Kate Lockley's immobile body. "Far too soon. Really much duller than it looks."  
  
"She was human, after all," Angelus mused. "Never mind. Throw her in the furnace, Luc, my boy. I've decided it's time to move on. Cordelia's dead, Wes is dead, poor little Katie's dead. We could try for Caritas, but killing demons, even singing green ones, has never been my choice. I've left a message with your lawyer, and he'll come to pick the deeds up at the end of the day. We pack during daylight, and leave at sunset."  
  
Luc stood up. "Where are we going?"  
  
His sire came up to him, and gripped Luc's shoulder. "Sunnydale. It's time for the Slayer. We leave at sunset."  
  
* * *  
  
The four of them were ready and waiting in the lobby, bags packed in the convertible, at sundown. Angelus was pacing, holding a file of papers in his hands, and occasionally glancing up at the windows. Gunn kept throwing excited looks at Luc. Only Darla seemed to be unconcerned, twisting a lock of hair idly as she waited.  
  
Ten minutes after sunset, there was the roar of an engine outside and the noise of footsteps.  
  
"He's brought company," Angelus said. "How utterly ridiculous."  
  
The lawyer, accompanied by three large bodyguards with stakes absurdly small in their huge hands, paused just inside the doors.  
  
"Lindsey!" said Angelus, lopsided charm turned on. "Nice of you to come."  
  
"Like I had a choice," Lindsey McDonald returned. "Well?"  
  
"I want you to sell the hotel," Angelus said briefly. "Full details in the file. Resulting funds in my account. You'll be glad to hear I and my family are moving out of Los Angeles."  
  
"I am glad to hear that," McDonald agreed. "Almost." His eyes went to Darla, and she looked up at him.  
  
"Hello, Lindsey. Hand giving you much trouble?"  
  
"No better for the asking. You're going too?"  
  
Darla smiled, and standing went to Angelus. "Silly boy, Lindsey. Did you think I could ever leave him for you? Weak, pathetic humanity."  
  
"It's rather touching," Luc said, "in a strange sort of way. Sweet." Beside him, Gunn snorted.  
  
Angelus pulled Darla into an embrace, and letting go grinned at the lawyer. "You have your answer, Lindsey. You never had a chance." He walked the ten paces between them, passed Lindsey McDonald the file, and paused. "Sell this place. Or there's more than a hand at stake." He leaned forwards and kissed the lawyer on the forehead. "Goodbye, Lindsey."  
  
The bodyguards moved forward, and Angelus, moving back towards the basement door, nonchalantly threw the first one aside.  
  
"Have a good life, Lindsey," he said. "Darla? Luc, Gunn. Come on."  
  
Lindsey McDonald held up a hand to stop the other two bodyguards, and the last view of him Luc had was the lawyer standing in the centre of the empty lobby, before the basement door closed. They had left the City of Angels behind, but before lay the expanse of eternity.  
  
FIN  
  
Author's notes: This is not, of course, the end of Luc's story. There is more, much more, on the way - in fact the story's flowing out in a most disconcerting manner. It's entitled 'Death Awaits', and the first two chapters have been posted with this. It's not the same style, but I think it's working. Also on the way soon is the next foray into my AU Connorverse, which is progressing less quickly - probably because Luc has his claws into me and won't let go.  
  
Many thanks for reading 'The Breton' and encouraging, and any comments at all on this chapter or the previous ones, or on the new story, is really really appreciated. Au revoir et à bientôt! 


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